#( all i remember is anthony was. . ... even worse trash than Usual )

[newtonsheffield]

I adore all your fics but something about A Letter You Never Read is making me flail even more then usual, bravo! Amazing job and congrats on 6 months of Bridgerton and Sons :D How does the first family dinner that Anthony brings Kate to post-ALYNR go?

I am truly shocked at the response this fic has gotten tbh

This might sound ridiculous, but I genuinely didn't think anyone would care . It was, like everything I write, pure self indulgence.

Anon Also asked: I think it would be hilarious to see Kate meeting the bridgertons in a letter you never read - I can imagine violet being beside herself with joy and the boys wanting to tell her all about Anthony pining after her 😂

Okay! Let's see Kate at her first Bridgerton family event.

Anthony had tried to say it so casually, she knew he had, but Kate knew what this meant to him, knew how much he probably wanted her to say yes. "No pressure or anything, but my Mum's invited you for dinner this week." She'd stilled, Newton nipping at her fingers, sitting in her lap. She knew really, what he was asking her, three weeks into their relationship. He wanted her to meet his family, to start twining their lives more firmly together. And as much as she liked the idea, as much as she liked the idea that her boyfriend wanted to let her into his life even more than he already had, it made her nervous. Anthony ran his hand through his hair nervously. "Forget I said anything." "I would love to meet your family." She said quickly, her hand on his arm to calm him, even though her heart was pounding. "Fair warning though, next week my Dad wants to meet you." And his smile had been so beautiful it had stolen her heart from her chest.

SO here she was, standing outside certainly the biggest house she'd ever been invited into, a bouquet of flowers clenched tightly in her fist. She'd panicked on the phone to Mary last night, "Mary he wants me to meet his family. What if they absolutely can't stand me?! What if his mum thinks I'm stupid and his Dad thinks I'm trash?! He'll break up with me and this will all be a humiliating footnote on the rest of my life!" Mary had sighed, "Sweetheart, have you seen yourself? The Bridgertons are going to love you. Besides, I've met Edmund and Violet and they're lovely just be yourself." Privately Kate thought that nothing good could come from being herself. That was hw she was in this mess to begin with.

Anthony's hand was warm in hers, his smile bright when he said, "Relax, Kate, they're really excited to meet you, and they're going to love you. I think my Mum already does." and then, before she could respond, Anthony had swung open the door, and they'd nearly been swallowed whole by the chaos. A boy who would be barely older than ten was standing at the tope of the stairs screaming "Hyacinth stood on my AT-AT walker lego and wrecked it!" A girl who must be Hyacinth given the slightly smug expression was saying "It was bad anyway!" Eloise and Francesca, who Kate had already met were appearing to be placing bets on which of their siblings would prevail as the two on the stairs started wrestling.

"What the hell?!" Anthony said, a little alarmed and everyone stopped. He appeared to be shooting murderous glances at each of his siblings, before an apologetic one at Kate, who could barely hold in her laughter at the chaos unfolding before her. "Anthony?!" A woman's voice called out, "Are you here sweetheart?" Anthony barely had time to call out "Yes, Mum!" Before a woman appeared, much younger than Kate would have thought honestly, her dark hair swept back off her face, her eyes alight with excitement, followed by a man who looked so startlingly like Anthony Kate nearly dropped her flowers.

"Hyacinth, let go of your brother immediately!" Anthony's mother hissed, gesturing wildly to her husband to do something about the situation. Anthony's father's solution was to sweep towards his youngest child and lift her onto his shoulders, forcibly breaking the headlock she had her brother in. Anthony cleared his throat.

"Mum, Dad, this is Kate Sheffield." He said quietly, his hand squeezing hers tightly, a small smile on his face as he finished, "She's my girlfriend." his mother made a soft cooing noise as though the prospect delighted her "Katie, this is my Mum and Dad, Hyacinth and Gregory and Eloise and Francesca who you met the other week." Anthony finished, gesturing to everyone. "Yes, we did meet the other week, didn't we Frankie? Not that we really got a chance to speak, Anthony was rather-" Eloise had started, but Anthony's mother clearly sensing danger interrupted.

"Kate! It's so lovely to finally meet you." She said, a little too loudly, and before Kate could react she was swept into a very tight hug, the flowers she'd brought held limply behind her back. "It's lovely to meet you as well, Mrs. Bridgerton." Kate said still feeling a little awkward and she pulled back. "And you, Mr. Bridgerton." She turned to his father who was looking at her with a strange mix of curiosity and pride. "Oh please, Violet's fine." Violet said taking Kate's hand and breezing from the room. "My goodness you're even more beautiful than I remember, no wonder Anthony's in such a state." Kate felt her cheeks flush. "Now we are just so so glad that you and Anthony reconnected, oh he just liked you so much in school. We all knew it but the poor boy was far too nervous to do anything about it." Kate felt her eyebrows raise, surprised that his mother would know who she was by name alone. "Mum!" Anthony said, his cheeks burning as he scampered after them, "Well, it's true, son. Vi, do you remember that time Anthony got hit in the head with a football because Katie Sheffield" he said the name in a dreamy sigh, "Walked past?"

Kate felt laughter bubble in her chest, her nerves slipping away. "Edmund, you're embarrassing him." Violet said lightly, forcing Kate into a seat at the breakfast bar in the Kitchen, Anthony plopping into the seat beside her, looking adorably petulant, She took his hand squeezing tightly and a small smile came to his face. "You're both embarrassing me." he muttered, his ears burning red, worsening as Kate kissed his cheek. "Excuse me, Kate." Gregory said politely, looking quite nervous as she turned towards him. "Anthony said that you have a puppy." "Anthony said, you have a puppy together." Hyacinth corrected eyeing Anthony who quickly said. "I didn't, I said Kate had a puppy. Katie I didn't tell them we got a dog together." He said quickly, his eyes horrified. And honestly, he needn't be so embarrassed, everything about this evening was only making her feel even closer to Anthony than she already felt, even more in love with him than she was, not that she could tell him that.

Gregory sighed, nudging his sister, "Anyway, um, me and Hyacinth were wondering if maybe we could meet the puppy?" He looked so adorably nervous to have asked, so much like a younger version of Anthony that Kate felt her stomach clench. "Mate, you can't ask people if you can meet their-" Anthony started, but Kate cut across him. "Next time I come, I'll bring him for you to see, he loves meeting new people. Maybe we can take him to the park sometime." Anthony was looking at her with such an odd expression, almost as if he were in awe of the very simple thing she'd just done. Gregory and Hyacinth high fived, tearing from the room.

"Well as I live and breathe if it isn't Katie Sheffield!" Benedict Bridgerton's voice boomed through the Kitchen, clearly just arrived. Kate smiled. "It's been a long time, Ben." She said as Benedict nudged Anthony out of the way to talk to her. "Oh too long. I had to listen to this one cry on the phone for months after you blocked him on Instagram." "I didn't block him." Kate said quickly, anxiety swirling in her stomach. Anthony swatted at his brother's ear, and just when she thought it couldn't possibly be more manic, and voice boomed. "My Lord, Anthony! Katie Sheffield's in the kitchen! The very reason you spent so much time in the shower is right here in the-" Colin's voice was cut off by a groan as Anthony's elbow connected with his stomach.

When Kate returned to the room sometime later having had to take a call she heard her boyfriend hissing. "Why can you not just be as cool as I am about this?! Why do you have to embarrass me?!" "Anthony, you look like a horny beetroot." a voice said Dryly. "Colin!" Edmund Bridgerton admonished and then, "But he isn't wrong Anthony." Kate couldn't help but Kiss Anthony very soundly when she returned to her seat next to him, unable to stop herself, affection overflowing for him, the room filled with awkward silence as soon as she appeared.

"I'm really fucking sorry about my family." Anthony groaned as they slid into the car, his forehead slumping against hers. Kate chuckled, "They love you, and they're happy that you're happy. It's nice." Anthony groaned again. "And besides, when you meet my family, it'll be way worse for you than that."

[rencgacle]

❛ you burned in the fire that you started. ❜ luz ( future eye patch Luz au ! Or whatever you feel )

    SILENT HILL  |  @rebcund.

     he has no secrets; he’s killed many men in his life – the only reason SANTIAGO is memorable is because the woman who accompanied him won’t let it go. it was years ago, wasn’t it? that he slit the man’s throat and took her eye. regret colors the memory, he should have killed her back then. it’s people like her that keep him distant from his family  (   not oona shutting him out, not the blood on his hands  ). she catches up with him, and instead of ending it, she preaches? tries to tell him who he was and who he became? he laughs, his body shakes and he doesn’t care that her blade against his throat moves in perilous ways when it does. it’s a joke that anyone demands him to be anything. burnt –  ? he’s a hero. every single debt of his, paid. his life devoted to a woman purer than he is. a child, his own, fed by his hand. 

      so what if long nights apart from them were spent with a STRUNG UP stranger in the next room? so what if he beat them black & blue & unrecognizable. if he only took the blindfold off so they could see their family slaughter? SO FUCKING WHAT.  means to an end, means to happiness. none of them deserved to live, none of them were kind enough to share their wealth. impure, unworthy, monsters. luz is trying to make him feel like one of them. he’s not; it’s her. he observes her tight features, her knuckles turning white around the handle of her blade.  f e r a l, comes to mind. untamed, out of control, ready to bare down on his family further if his blood doesn’t spill here & now. he promised safety, comfort, survival. 

     A GODDAMNED HERO; feet firmly planted, shoulders squared.

                                                                                               ❝  YOU, TOO.  ❞

[ineffable0husbands]

How the Mighty Have Fallen Chapter Three

Warnings: Kissing, gross descriptions of garbage

Ship(s): Hastur/Ligur 

tag list:  @adoratato @iamdevilantlysatan @bri-cas @that-gender-bender@scum-of-the-earth @pieces-of-annedrew @scampycatty4999 @elrilsf @my-emo-child @always-reading2 @larrklopp @l-garnxtt @halbarryislife@ninjacatinsanitycrazy @impossiblynervouscycle @audder17@theratatethekingsclothes @boredafsposts @i-really-dig-the-purple@mycrappylife01 @lostwolf-fandomlover @hamiltrashphannerd@she-who-must-not-be-named @sundry-whovengerslocked @deceitfullyanxiousprince e @booklover223@twdlover03 @drunkinfandomstuff@nimsy1920 @catsarebestest

Crowley let out a loud whoop as he plummeted through the fiery tunnel, grinning wickedly as he twisted and spun throughout the air. It reminded him of the time when he trapped Hastur in voicemail. After falling, Crowley would get a thrill out of the free-falling sensation. He’d gone bungee jumping and skydiving on a number of occasions. Now, why exactly was Crowley thinking about these things while he was plummeting down into hell? You see, dear reader, Crowley had realized his grave mistake in choosing this tunnel as the smell of rotting flesh and mold filled his nostrils. Our demon had made the fatal decision to use hell’s garbage chute as his entrance. So, rather than thinking too much about what waited for him below and pouting over his new jacket being ruined, Crowley decided to use that imagination of his and pretend he was just on another one of his skydiving trips. Imagination doesn’t get you everywhere, however, and as Crowley crashed face first into a pile of what he hoped was mud and not something else, he regretted everything.

“Ow,” Crowley grunted, sitting back on his knees and wiping off what thankfully had been mud from his face. He glanced around at the heaps of demonic trash and waste (yes, hell’s sewage and garbage systems were one in the same) and got to his feet. Garbage dropped from above through several different fiery chutes in the ceiling, most of it burning into a thick, black sludge that Crowley was up to his ankles in. Grumbling something about how the entire place was full of nutcases, Crowley shook off as much of the goo as he could and trudged through the mountains of trash. Some of it was so high up that it clogged up the garbage shoots above. Hell may be fairly organized, but they did not, by any means, know how to properly dispose of its waste. And the smell! Absolutely horrid.

“Are you sure you saw someone come through the chute?” An all too familiar voice echoed through the maze of trash and Crowley quickly hid behind one of the towering stacks, careful not to touch anything while also not being seen. Hastur and Ligur approached the tower he was hiding behind and he quickly scampered around to the other side.

“Yes, Hastur, I’m sure! I’m not a lunatic,” Ligur snapped. Crowley frowned in confusion. Hadn’t he killed Ligur? He was pretty sure he had. It was a permanent kind too.

“Ligur, my little devil, please. Let’s just go home,” Hastur groaned, irritated.

“Little devil?” Crowley whispered to himself, the epitome of confusion, tempted to peek his head around the corner just to know what the ever-loving fuck was going on.

“Oh come on, Hastur, that’s not fair. You know I can’t resist you when you use pet names,” Ligur hissed, but Crowley didn’t miss the pleasured undertone in the way he spoke to Hastur. His nose wrinkled in disgust.

“What? I thought you liked it, Snookums.” Oh God, Hastur was practically purring at the other demon now. And were they kissing? Crowley felt like he was going to be sick. In fact, Crowley felt so much like he was going to be sick that he verbally gagged, catching the other two demons off guard and forcing them to end their lip-sucking session.

“Who’s there? Come out, now!” Ligur shouted, and Crowley heard the two demons tromping towards his garage pillar. The demon cursed under his breath and took off into a sprint, ignoring the two shouting demons behind him. He weaved through the stacks of garbage and tried to find the exit, looking around wildly. He’d never actually been to the garbage rooms before. Only the lowest demons worked down here, and Head Office had liked him quite a lot until he and Aziraphale had been found out, so trying to find his way through this place was like a blind man trying to go through a corn maze. Just as Crowley thought he may have gotten a glimpse of the exit, a pair of hands grabbed him by the back of the jacket and yanked him backward, nearly dragging him through a rather nasty looking pile of decomposing ears.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” Hastur sneered, pinning Crowley up against one of the stacks of garbage. Crowley grimaced as an audible squishing sound could be heard when his back pressed against the pillar. Ligur hung back just behind Hastur, his eyes and the iguana on his head flashing rapidly between different colors. A sign of stress. Poor thing, the incident with the holy water must still be fresh in his memory.

“How the hell are you still alive?” Crowley muttered, looking over Hastur’s shoulder at the other demon. Ligur stiffened and his lips curled into a snarl.

“When our master’s son returned everything to normal, I was brought back. Surprise,” he sneered. Shooting a mock smile at the other demon. Crowley rolled his eyes and pushed Hastur off of him, straightening his jacket again.

“Right. Well, lovely seeing you two again, but I really need to go,” Crowley said dismissively, pushing past Hastur. “You can go back to your snogging now, I won’t be here for long.” Hastur sputtered in indignation and Ligur’s iguana turned a rather violent shade of red. It had always been so fun making those too angry, right from the moment Crowley had first fallen. A sharp, blinding pain shrieked through Crowley and he gasped, clutching his temple. He staggered forward and tried to keep walking, but the pain was excruciating.

“What are you doing? Why are you walking like that?” Hastur questioned, as socially-inept as Crowley remembered. He shook him off stalked towards the exit. Hastur and Ligur followed him, but Crowley paid them no attention. “Crowley! Stop! Where are you going?!” Hastur shrieked. God, his voice was annoying, but it was even worse when Crowley had a headache. Finally reaching the grime covered door that led out of the dump, Crowley pushed through and was immediately swept up in a crowd of demons milling around and going about their work. Using the crowd to blend in and hide from the demons pursuing him, Crowley kept his head down and altered his appearance slightly so as not to be recognizable. Hastur and Ligur were shoving demons out of their way and searching wildly for him. Crowley’s headache had gone back to a dull throb and he was able to look around without black dots dancing in front of his eyes.

“Records, records, where are the records,” Crowley muttered to himself, looking at the overhanging signs that jutted out of the walls, straining to read the chicken scratch that was written on them. He glanced back quickly to see that Hastur and Ligur were still in hot pursuit. He groaned and ducked under and unsuspecting demon’s arm and made his way through the crowd quicker.

Finally finding the sign that read ‘records room’, Crowley pushed his way past several more demons and ran in, closing the door tightly behind him. He sighed in relief and turned, and that relief was soon diminished. The Records room was almost a mirror image of the garbage dump, just with stacks of paper instead of trash. Files, loose papers, bound books, everything was just scattered around meaninglessly. It was almost as if Hell didn’t want any of this stuff to be found.

“Anthony J. Crowley,” a mechanical voice echoed through the vast space, making the demon flinch. He turned towards the source of the voice to find a hologram of sorts, kind of like the Metatron, hoving a few feet up in the air. He blinked.

“Ah- yes, that’s me. I’m looking for my file,” Crowley said, clearing his throat and facing the hologram completely. The bobbing head in the hologram nodded before disappearing. A thick, leatherbound book began to glow a light orange and was lifted into the air as if by magic, floating slowly towards Crowley. The demon plucked it out of the air and blew the thick layer of dust off of the cover, coughing and waving his hand as he flew into his face. His eyes lit up at the golden letters that adorned the cover. ‘The Life and Times of Anthony J. Crowley’.

“Will that be all, Mr. Crowley?” the hologram chimed in, appearing directly in front of the demon this time.

“Yes, that’s all, thank you,” Crowley said, barely able to contain the excitement that bubbled up in his chest as his fingers hovered over the cover. Everything about him, who was, who he knew, the things he did in heaven, all of it was right here. Crowley’s old name may even be in there. What if he’d had a family in heaven? Some angels did. Would it detail the other things he had helped to create? He wanted to open it and read it all right now, but he knew that he needed to get out of hell first. Thanking the hologram of sorts once again, Crowley tucked the thick book under his arm and marched out of the records room.

“Crowley!” rang out as soon as the demon stepped through the door,

“Oh, piss off, Hastur!” Crowley shouted, rolling his eyes and elbowing past some demons. He heard several shouts and grumbles of complaint as Hastur and Ligur shoved people aside to try and get to him. Crowley rolled his eyes and casually made his way to the escalator that led out of hell. Instead of just standing on it as he usually did, Crowley ran up the escalator steps. He quickly burst out of hell and sprinted as quickly as he could out of the building and down the street. God damn it all, why hadn’t he driven the Bentley?!

[channyperkinsuniverse]

I Won’t Tell

That his father never noticed the change was typical. He never noticed anything. Once when he returned home after he’d been missing for two days, the only thing Howie knew was that dinner hadn’t been cooked, and he’d gone hungry. Nolan knew about his fathers’ important work, and how he’d stay for hours in his work shed. Sometimes he’d sleep out there, so Nolan was used to being alone. But this wasn’t the loneliness again. This was different. All Nolan’s emotions were gone. He didn’t feel a thing. One minute he ran and locked his bedroom door, and the next he was laying on his bed and everything in him drained out. If he were asked to explain the feeling he would say, “If emotions were blood I unknowingly opened an artery. They just poured out. And then I felt... empty.” Because Nolan wasn’t exactly the dramatic kind. He never even cried until that day when Anthony Duncan hit him in the face with a tree branch used like a baseball bat. Anthony was a coward, but that hurt. Nolan washed the blood off his face in the bathroom. It didn’t cause that much damage. His chin was scraped. His jaw that was fragile and thin hurt though. It felt like he couldn’t open his mouth. The blood on his teeth must have come from his split lip. The boys were always hanging out at the corner. Anthony hated him because, not only was he a year younger at fifteen and Anthony could get away with picking fights with him, but his friends accepted the abuse simply out of the fact that Nolan was fragile. “Where you going faggot?” Anthony stayed right beside him as if he wanted an answer. Nolan just kept walking, a little bit into Maude’s rose bushes to get around him. Of course, Howie didn’t notice. Not at dinner. He didn’t even look up from his plate as he shoveled food with his spoon. Nolan thought of telling him about the fight, but as soon as he opened his mouth he shut it again. No. It was best. He didn’t want to have to tell his dad what the kids at school said about him. Now, he laid in his bed and thought about the whole thing. Feeling... Nothing. As he said, it all drained out of him. He stared at the ceiling and thought some more. Getting hit in the face was just the beginning. Just Anthony getting a taste and then running... Two days. They were the worst two days of his life. How does a dad not call the police, or even know when his son’s gone? It happened in the morning. Nolan was on his way to school. He walked down past Maude’s house, and her rose bushes. Her usually crabby thing to say was “Don’t you go messing up my roses. I saw where you came from, and I won’t hesitate to pay a visit to your parents.” Nolan has always denied it. That morning, though, he said, “You don’t have to worry. After today, you’ll never see me again.” See, Nolan thought about it. He thought about it a lot. He also thought of leaving this place behind and never coming back. Who’d miss him? The only worse thing in the world would be they wouldn’t notice him even where he was going. If he went on forever and no one ever noticed him, that would truly be unfortunate. Nolan wanted them to notice. He wanted them all to notice. And remember. He waited for the bus, and that’s when it happened. His hood went over his face. He couldn’t see a thing, but he could feel someone pull him against them. Right down the street, Howie was still in the work shed. No one heard Nolan screaming. It went from the airy morning outside to a confined quiet inside. That’s when he knew he was in someone’s house. That someone had him by the elbows, pulling them back. Out the bottom of his hood he saw exposed floor planks, and they were down a hall. Whoever it was, they knew they were alone because Nolan’s voice in the house didn’t seem to bother him. “Who are you? Please let me go. I need to go to school.” He shoved Nolan in the closet with all the laundry put in nice neat bags. Falling over them, his hood flipped back, but Nolan only saw the door close out the light. Now, in his room, sitting up in his bed, Nolan couldn’t lie to himself. He always knew there was something about Anthony. Something familiar. He thought about it more after it happened because then he still had to see Anthony Duncan every single day. The same stupid grin like he knew he’d gotten away with it. Telling the same stupid friends that “Nolan’s a faggot!” He had to know that Nolan would be too humiliated to tell. Who would believe Nolan, anyway? “Yeah, keep walking, creep!” Anthony yelled. Nolan didn’t want to be the way he was. In the house, Anthony wanted to know if he had girl parts, and if he wore girls’ underwear. That was all people thought being gay was. Being a freak. But, you say, someone else should’ve known Nolan was gone. Where’s his mother? Oh her. Don’t ask. She’s long gone. Just Nolan and his dad now. Nolan guesses it’s because she couldn’t handle her child being a freak. He really hated himself for that. Howie tried to tell him it wasn’t his fault. Once. On the day she left. But that was it. No explanation or further encouragement. “It’s not your fault, boy.” And then he walked back to the work shed. Now, it was getting late. The room was turning a shade of blue. It was time for dinner, but Nolan wasn’t making dinner tonight. First, he went to the work shed. Howie was... experimental. Put in Nolan’s own words, he said, “Dad taught me the most. Especially, that he never gave up. I respect that more than he’ll ever know.” He took a walk right after. It was dinner time in other neighbors’ houses, too. At Maude’s house, no crass warnings about her roses. That was a good thing. For her. Then, down the street where he took the bus, the place where someone pulled the hood over his head, and the place where he used to be afraid. He didn’t feel afraid anymore. No, that’s not true. He was about to never feel afraid again. He saw Anthony Duncan out by his trash can. He was looking cautiously back at the lighted house like he was hiding. They obviously didn’t know he vaped... raped... abused innocent boys... When Nolan got closer, Anthony almost saw him. He was pretty sure he recognized him as Nolan pulled the gardeners’ wire. The detective who interviewed Nolan asked, “What’d you do with Anthony Duncan? We know you killed your father, and we have witnesses who saw you taking a walk the night Anthony went missing. Make this easy on yourself, and tell us where he is.” Nolan smiled. There was one feeling that survived... Nostalgia. He said, “Don’t you go messing up her rose bushes. She doesn’t like it.” Rose bushes! Rose bushes! He heard the detective yelling orders to search the neighborhood for houses with rose bushes as he ran out of the room. Finally! Someone noticed. © Chandra Perkins 10/26/2019

[blissfullylostinarabbithole]

Outsider Pt. 16

Pairing: Step Dad!Tony Stark x Teen!Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Summary: Reader learns a bit about the man holding her captive.

Warnings: Force feeding, mentions of vom, unwanted advances, general creepiness. S1 spoiler for GoT.

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When you woke, your head felt foggy and your eyelids heavy. When you finally opened them, you saw a man sleeping beside you, and you began to remember what had happened the last time you woke.

You tried to sit up slowly hoping the creaking bed frame wouldn’t wake him, and had to bite down on your fist to keep from crying out at the blinding pain on your side. Making sure he was still asleep, you lifted your shirt and bandage and found the stitches had been redone. Though it was no longer bleeding, the spot was red and swollen, and it was starting to give off an unpleasant odor.

Looking around the large room again, you could feel the walls closing in on you. You couldn’t tell if it was day or night, nor had any idea how long you’ve been there. Eyeing the door, you weighed your chances of getting off the bed and making a run for it before he woke, but the bed was loud and you weren’t even sure you could run. Plus, you couldn’t take the chance only to find the door might be locked. You turned back to the sleeping man, hoping you could try to find the key and slip it from him, but found him wide awake and staring.

“Hi,” you gasped.

“Hello.” A smile began to creep on his face. “How do you feel?”

Your hand fell from its place on your side. “I need a doctor. I think I’m getting an infection.”

He rolled his eyes and propped himself on an elbow. “You’re just not giving it time to heal. Do you remember yet?”

His annoyance at your insistence for medical attention only confused you as to why he took care to stitch you up in the first place. Still, you had to try to find out whatever you could; stall until you could either get away or be found.

He frowned as you shook your head. “What happened to m-,” you stopped yourself, noting his own bruises, “us? Why are we hurt?”

He sat up, scooting closer to you. If he felt you stiffen when he buried his face into your hair, he didn’t comment. “You didn’t come to me,” he breathed in your ear. “Your daddy tried to tear us apart. I showed him.”

He began to laugh as your blood ran cold. What had he done to Tony? What had he to the others, to-

“Sam,” you whispered. The man gripped your arm hard, turning you roughly to face him. You grimaced at the pain, but kept from screaming.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing,” you rushed as his face contorted with anger. You watched it turn into rage as you studied his familiar features. Nat’s mocking laughter flashed through your mind, and it clicked into place. “Cletus?”

Like the flip of a light switch, his scowl became a beaming grin. “You remember.”

“It’s coming back to me,” you lied, relieved you were on the right track. “It’s slow going, though.” His eyes trailed down to your lips, and you had to swallow the vomit that raced up your throat. “Bathroom,” you blurted just as he was leaning in. “I need a bathroom.”

He threw himself on his back, laughing away the tension. “You’re shy,” he teased. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

It’s nothing you haven’t heard before, but usually a threatening undertone was nonexistent.

He nodded toward the corner where the bucket was, and you couldn’t help scrunching your nose in disgust. “I need to wash. At least I need to try to clean my cuts so they don’t get worse.”

To your horror, he got up to leave. He didn’t ask you to follow, or say a word about an available restroom. He walked out, and you heard him lock the door behind him.

A sob escaped you once you were confident he wouldn’t hear it. You tried to hold your tears back, but it was impossible. Deciding to take advantage of his absence, you climbed off the bed to test your strength. The walk to the bucket was slow, but you were able to stay on your feet until you were halfway back to the bed.

When you heard the door unlock, you wiped at your eyes and tried to free your face of any expression. He entered holding a pack of baby wipes, but your gaze followed the key in his hand as he slipped it into his pocket.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Tony stared at the ground, his cheek stinging from the slap your mother landed as soon as she stepped off the plane.

She'd said nothing when he told her what had happened over the phone, and even now she seemed at a loss for words. The ride back to the tower was tense, neither Happy nor Tony dared to even breathe louder than necessary.

At the tower, he led her to the conference room where all your gifts were laid out on the table.

“Where’s Barnes,” she asked, coldness in her voice.

“Honey…”

“All this evidence and he never said a word. To anyone.”

“It’s not his fault.” He chuckled humorlessly at the incredulous look she shot him. “I know I’m not his number one fan, but I looked through all this, we all did, multiple times. Aside from the book, there’s nothing here that points to anything of significance.”

“He still should’ve said something. He felt something was off, and he thought keeping it to himself was the right choice.”

“You’ll have to wait if you want to talk to him. He’s only been back once since she’s been gone, and that’s because Cap dragged him in for a shower and some shut eye.”

“Fine,” she huffed, dropping her things into an empty chair. “Where do we search next?”

“I’m sorry, what?” He saw the determination in her eyes, and knew he had to talk her down. “It’s dangerous, you can’t-”

“Anthony, if you’re about to tell me to stay here and just wait for you, the man who lost MY daughter, to find her, then I will grab her and take her home and have this marriage annulled before the police are even finished writing the reports!”

“I tried to protect her!”

“If you’d have been honest with her she might still be here!”

“I know,” he collapsed into the nearest chair, suddenly unable to look his wife in the eye. “I know I messed up. I keep messing everything up.”

“So make it up to me. Make it up to her. Find. Her.” She stormed out of the room, leaving Tony to gather himself while she prepared to take to the streets herself.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

You pushed the slop around the paper bowl, hoping he wouldn’t notice you weren’t eating it. It was disgusting, but it was also getting harder to refuse food and water. Though you were dehydrated, you were afraid it was laced with something to knock you out or worse. Sometimes he would leave you for a moment and you’d be able to dump what he’d given you in the bucket, and sometimes you’d even been able to get him to share his own once you’ve seen him consume some of it. This time, however, you were hoping to switch your bowl with his, and prayed that it would do something, anything, to disorient him enough for you to get the key and leave.

“Tell me how we met.” He stopped mid bite and glanced at you curiously. “I mean, maybe it’ll help me remember faster.”

He set his bowl down, and you took care to set yours right beside it.

“You were out with your mom, so so annoyed with mommy,” his eyes glazed over as he giggled at the memory, and you took the chance to grab his bowl. “You turned back and smiled at me, and when our eyes connected, our souls connected.” He picked your bowl up, and you smiled as he shoveled a spoonful into his mouth. “We knew from just that one look we were meant to be.”

“That’s,” horseshit, “wonderful.” You ate from the bowl, making his smile grow wider.

“You couldn’t keep away. When I got up, you followed and pretended to bump into me. You couldn’t wait to feeeeeel meeee,” he sang.

You began coughing, choking on the nasty sludge he insisted was food. This was him? The random guy you bumped into on your first few days in the city, the one who you thought looked familiar in the news article about the robbery? And he thought you made heart eyes at him or something?

He shoved your cup of water into your hands, but you tried to refuse it, much to his annoyance. He grabbed your chin and brought the cup to your lips, ordering you to drink. Thankfully, you ended up spilling most of it, and he reached for his own to also force into you. You drank it, and your coughing mostly stopped.

“There,” he smiled. “Feel better?”

You nodded. “Thank you.”

“Can’t have you dying on me now can I? Not when it’s not on my terms.” He began to laugh like he’d just told the funniest joke, oblivious to look of horror on your face.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Peter hadn't been able to sleep, and it was starting to show. Ned was exhausted, too, but never complained. They'd put up missing person posters on every shop window they came across before Tony had tasked the job to Happy and told the boys to return to school.

They stood at the entrance, trying to give a flyer to every student who passed. Some ignored them, only pushing past to get to class. Most those who took one, promptly dropped it in the trash without so much as a glance.

Peter was getting angry, his eyes beginning to water in frustration. He noticed Michelle approach, and dried his eyes before offering her one.

She took it, recognizing you immediately. Her body gave an involuntary shiver when she glossed over the suspect's info.

“Who's Cletus Kasady?” she asked, getting both boys’ attention.

“He's that psycho killer who murdered all those people last week.”

Her brow furrowed, and she turned back toward Peter. “He's the one who took her?”

“Yeah,” Peter nodded, drying his eyes again.

Behind him, she could see the garbage can filled with flyers and sighed. “Gimme some.” She grabbed half of Peter's stack and turned toward the approaching students.

One girl scoffed and tried to side step her, but she blocked her path and practically shoved the paper in her face.

“Have you seen either of these people?” she demanded. The girl was taken aback, but took it and scanned it before shaking her head. “If you do see them, or even think you see them, call the number at the bottom. It's important.”

Peter and Ned watched the girl walk away, her eyes still on the flyer as Michelle forced another one into the face of another student.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

You’d pulled the old switcheroo a few times now, and nothing ever happened. You’d watch with bated breath as he ate what was meant for you, but grew discouraged when every minute passed as he kept talking about himself.

The more he told you, the more desperate you became of getting away from him. He’d often lose his train of thought, or expected you to make connections between things that made no sense. When he told you he was the one who had murdered the Carrs, and everyone who was in their establishment, you broke down. He tried to comfort you, and you fought the urge to shove him away, even when he whispered in your ear that it was your fault for not doing as he’d instructed. You didn’t know what he’d meant by that, but it seemed the wrong time to ask since he’d been losing patience with your ‘amnesia’.

When your cries were reduced to sniffles, he tilted your chin towards him and began to lean in. He’d caught you off guard, and you turned away from him before realizing it’d been safer to let him, just for a moment.

He growled and grabbed your throat, pulling you toward him.

“I’m growing tired of this little game of yours,” he hissed in your ear as you clawed at his hands, struggling for air. “There was another before you, you know? She refused me, too. Do you know what happened? I pushed her away from me, and in front of an oncoming bus.” He shoved you away, watching you try to regain your composure. He shoved your takeout box back into your hands, and ordered you to eat.

You took it with shaky hands, digging up a fry from the bottom of the stack and nibbling on it. “It’s good,” you offered gratefully, trying to calm him.

“It’d better be. I risked going to that stupid diner in Brooklyn to get it.”

You paused, still only halfway done with that first fry. He’d avoided telling you anything about where you were, and now he’d just let it slip that you were still in New York. You tried to feel hopeful that you’d be found, though it only made it seem worse that he’d made it clear he had no qualms about killing you if he had to. The thought that you could die so close to freedom was enough to make you despair.

The box was snatched from your hands, and a handful of fries were being rammed onto your lips.

“Eat!” he snarled, using one hand to pry your mouth open.

The harder you fought, the more forceful he became, and he didn’t stop until you’d eaten every last crumb.

You cried yourself to sleep that ‘night’, and not able to take the sound of your weeping, he’d left you alone. It would’ve been a nice reprieve had it not been for your inability to keep much of anything down when you were stressed, making you spend half the night on the floor next to the bucket.

When you awoke, you were back on the bed, though he was nowhere to be found. There was a small table beside the bed now, and on it was a vase with a bouquet of flowers that looked all too familiar. On his side of the bed, there was the usual bowl of goo along with a note.

I forgive you

It was signed with a ‘CK’ and a heart.

You grabbed the bowl and dumped its contents into the bucket. You began to ‘wash’, using the used wipes to cover the food. You checked your bandage, and cringed at how nasty it was turning.

“Fuck,” you sighed. “I’m gonna go out like Drogo if I don’t get out of here.”

But you had no idea how. He wasn’t a deep enough sleeper for you to try to sneak out, and giving him what you thought might be drugged food and drink wasn’t working. You weren’t strong enough to remove the mattress from the frame, let alone one of the metal bars, and nothing in the room seemed to be loose enough for you to yank to use as a weapon.

Unused to having the table there, you bumped into it and luckily caught the vase before it fell. As you lifted it back onto the table, you noticed its weight. The ceramic wasn’t very thick, but it was quite heavy. Heavy enough, you hoped, to give you enough time to get the key and out the door.

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A/N: So, a fair few of you figured out it was Kasady :D I know erotomania isn’t his type of psychosis, but hey, it’s fanfic!

[getseriouser]

20 THOUGHTS: Most Boundaries?

WHO would you rather be? 

Jye Simpkin, who lost touch on Anthony McDonald- Tipungwuti in the dying seconds Saturday afternoon?

Maybe Trent Boult, who took the catch cleanly off Ben Stokes before stepping on the boundary to result in a six?

Or Roger Federer, who had two match points for his 21st slam before ultimately losing the fifth set to his Serbian rival?

Probably Alan Richardson, who has had no luck with injuries, has shown a lot on field to be honest, and doesn’t even make it to the end of July. Simpkin, Boult, Federer – they could only blame themselves for minor errors. Richo? Probably couldn’t have done anymore, even with the benefit of hindsight.

But that’s footy.

 1.       So we start at St Kilda – we thought Richo would be ok given the circumstances we described last week. But the writing was on the wall that with his record, over six years, there just wasn’t enough to justify the faith Hardwick and Buckley received. So now, is it Brad Scott, the guy who walked early to be on pole position for a vacancy, or Brett Ratten, the former Hawks’ assistant who the Saints got ‘mysteriously’ last offseason to be ‘just’ an assistant coach?

It’s rather simple. Brad Scott’s career winning percentage as a coach, is 50%, Brett Ratten, despite being at Carlton, is also at 50%, he got sacked in a year he went 11-11, not something like 6-16, and for the Hawthorn three-peat was in the coaching box next to Clarkson. If its out of those two, sorry Brad, you’re just not even close despite making yourself available for exactly such a scenario. Ratts is not just a good caretaker, he is the next in line for a senior gig – period.

2.       Mind you, here’s a theory. There’s a coach out there right now in a long-term gig, who if you believe the whispers on the nose with his board and even his supporter base as well. This same coach also has coached the most Grand Finals in the last ten years aside from Al Clarkson. And, this same coach, whilst leaving on suspect terms, also has a lot of credits still in the bank with the Saints. That coach is Ross Lyon, a 50-50 chance to be moved on by Fremantle, the coach who has a record of making Grand Finals and who could come back to Moorabbin and try and go one further than 2009/2010. Sure, left on less-than-great terms but the current admin wasn’t the admin when he walked. I couldn’t rule out a reconciliation and an almighty chapter two in the Lyon-Saints story.

3.       As for Carlton and David Teague, wow, he isn’t just going right on the park with results, he has got that playing group completely sold. Ross Lyon’s greatest strength is the bond he forges with the playing group, you still hear St Kilda legends talk in such high praise for their former coach, its very noticeable. The same things are emanating out of Ikon Park for ‘Teaguey’. And whilst Chris Judd, despite the shocking attempt at a false backtrack, and the Board wanting an experienced coach, the playing group is that enamoured with playing for Teaguey, and if the results stack up, he has to be a strong contender to continue for sure.

4.       So whats this say about Brendan Bolton? Usually, and like I make the point with Ratten earlier, Al Clarkson assistants are money. Last three premiership coaches, all former Hawks’ assistants. But Bolton is the outlier? Now too that David Teague has swept the playing group off their feet. We thought Bolton was a bit stuff, blaming the long-term rut Carlton has been in for his non-success. But in hindsight, was there something about the Bolton approach that despite his well-credential apprenticeship, he just wouldn’t cut it? Now, I’d say most probably.

5.       Have penned something about the Gold Coast being salvageable in more detail, but gee, this is a rabble of a club. At one point, Round 16, 2014, they were 9 wins and 6, in the eight and looking like making their first finals campaign. Gary Ablett does his shoulder against the Pies and misses the rest of the season. Since that injury, they are 24 wins and 78 losses. That’s five-win season pace in basically five years of football. In that time West Coast have had time to be awesome, then shit, then win a flag. It’s a long time of real mediocrity.

6.       But remember, the AFL has pumped in over $200m into the Gold Coast, so the idea of a quick retreat to engage Tasmania needs a fair bit more than what you and I think of over a cheeky pint on a Friday night. Tassie prospects look good, but the AFL-Suns breakup ain’t that close with that sort of investment to date, I’m sorry.

7.       Quickly on the cricket. My Lord, that’s the worst rule of all time. At least with soccer, whilst we don’t like penalties deciding a world cup, they don’t stop at five spot kicks each and declare the winner based on who had the most shots on goal within the 90 minutes. Or in tennis, if it ends two sets all, six games all declaring the winner on who has hit the most aces. Just terrible. ICC, get serious.

8.       Mind you, did you know, that if two teams finish equal eighth in the AFL, exact same for Points, but also the exact same For and Against, that to decide who plays finals and who finishes ninth, in the official rules, would come down to a coin toss. Dead serious.

9.       And I tell you, smokey for middle order in the Ashes – Matty Wade. Second most Shield runs in the summer just gone behind Marcus Harris, and has smashed not only two white ball centuries for Australia A in England, but in his first red-ball hitout in the same tour hit a ton as well. No other middle order candidate is banging down the door, so Wade’s every chance to get a gig at 5 or 6 at this rate.

10.   Can we pin the balloon somewhat of the Brisbane Lions resurgence? Bear with. From Round 6 to 17, 11 games of footy, only four games against top 8 teams from last year, or worst still only two games against current top 8 teams. If you go from Round 6 to include Round 21 coming up, that’s five games only against last year’s top 8 and still only two games against teams currently in the 8. It gets worse – they play the Gold Coast twice before their first games against Geelong and Richmond in the last two rounds, and when you isolate records against current top four teams they are as good as Carlton, or records against current top eight teams as good as Footscray. Soft draw much?

11.   Speaking of Footscray, please, please, I know its not a well-thought through argument but please revert to Footscray and not the Western Bulldogs. The nostalgia on Sunday was just terrific, and to play the original song at the end was something diehard Doggies fans, or should I say Scragger fans was awesome.

12.   Couple on Carlton, good and bad. Firstly good, the breakout star of the comp might not be Sam Walsh, but Harry McKay. Have called this very early in the season, but after another strong aerial performance against Sydney where he took nine marks, its Round 18 this week and the 21-year-old still leads the league for contested marks. If a forward is leading that category these days and not say a Jeremy McGovern for example, that’s epic. He is a star.

13.   Bad news, again, this column called it early too but finally the Blues dropped Mitch McGovern for being pudgy. Never good to fat-shame someone, but you’re getting paid that much, I could say a lot worse than advising the Blues new-boy to you know what, maybe say no to seconds at the dinner table occasionally yeah?

14.   Good to see the folks at the Herald Sun read the opening installment to the Get Serious Top 50 last Thursday. No-one talks about Robbie Tarrant’s value until this column got him in at number 48, and low and behold a couple days later a piece on their website about whether he is the most underrated player in the league? Not to this column’s readers he ain’t, move along now, but nice to know they’re on board with the Top 50.

15.   I know there was a lot of love for Tippa’s winner on Saturday night, and his overall game too which was fantastic. But has anyone dished any kudos to Jayden Laverde for his role in that goal? The gather, alluding a couple Roos and the handball execution under that much pressure, I thought it was as outstanding as the finish. Well done Jayden, we noticed.

16.   West Coast, hmm, David King still thinks they’re Christmas. I though they would win enough games to get top two, but that took a shot with their loss last Friday. They smashed Freo, but only just beat Hawthorn in the wet and capitulated to Sydney last month at the same venue where Carlton won just last weekend. Not motoring just yet, they are not going back-to-back, can’t see it. My flag tip as of July 16th – Richmond. They just have to finish fourth to play Geelong and its done.

17.   Jack Darling, often maligned by this column, and today is again no different. Sure, he has at times looked like John Coleman, but if you can’t stand up in perfect conditions against Brayden Maynard, who you made look like Stephen Silvagni on a Stephen Dank supplements program, then you’re only as good as your last performance for mine. Kennedy, first up, on a very good Jordan Roughead – excused. Darling on a bloke he had both inches and kgs on, didn’t fire a shot. Poor.

18.   Pies might lose Pendles for a match, a month, not sure, but that was much better, that last 45 minutes was as good a footy against solid opposition as you’ll see. When West Coast lost to Sydney, they were trash. But for two and a half quarters last Friday the Eagles looked like the machine of late last year. So the performance by the Maggies, alongside the return of Taylor Adams and Jeremy Howe this week, is very much a good news story in lieu of their September aspriations.

19.   Orazio Fantasia’s form since the story, or non-story, about his desire to be traded home to South Australia, depending on which version you believe, has been mightily patchy. And its either because the story is true and he is off-guard lying about it, or he can’t handle the distraction of a rumour with no substance. My gut feel is still the former.

20.   And lastly, completely random – why do some people think petrol pump hoses only extend ten inches? Why do they whose cars have the petrol cap say on the left hand side of the car, prefer to queue up behind six cars for a pump on the left, when the pumps on the right are totally vacant. I’m yet to see a fuel hose that would not extend all the way around or over a Hummer if need be, so please, if your guilty of this basic human shortcoming – why?

[threeorphanpilgrimage]

Chapter 71 - Wide Open Spaces

Clementine felt the wind stinging at her face as she pedaled down the road. It was warmer today, but still not nearly enough for her liking. The snow had disappeared almost as suddenly as it had come, and once again it felt like they were on their way to an early spring, or maybe they were just a few days closer to an ordinary spring now. Looking out at the vast empty fields of the Osage Nation, midday sun lighting every withered blade of grass, Clem was disappointed to find no signs of civilization beyond the power poles running beside the road, her only clues to a possible oasis in this desert of emptinesses.

Seeing a barn approaching on the horizon, Clem stopped pedaling and started coasting along on her momentum. A wooden fence came into view, and Clem suspected this was another cattle farm instead of the kind they were looking for, but seeing it was the only building for miles she stopped to check it out. Deploying her bike’s kickstand, Clem removed the tomahawk and raincoat stashed in her saddlebag and climbed over the decrepit wooden fence.

There wasn’t much in the pasture but a few stray weeds, but Clem could see something piled up in one of the corners across from her and a couple of bodies lying in the dirt just before that. Approaching them, she could see their decaying limbs had been twisted into unnatural positions, and their clothes were little more than darkly stained rags now, but she still raised her tomahawk and punctured the nearest one’s lifeless skull. Approaching the second body, Clem felt a leg bone snap under foot. Suddenly, the second corpse twitched, causing Clem to jump backwards in response. Watching anxiously, Clem saw that the walker’s head could only barely pivot in place using the torn strains of flesh that were once its neck. It could only fruitlessly chomp at the air, or even the dirt depending on which way its head bobbed; Clem put an end to its pitiful existence.

Reaching the corner of the field, Clem discovered what she had seen before were piles of bones that probably use to belong to a couple of horses. Their skeletons had been picked clean and left to bake in the sun, with weeds growing in the spots shaded by their presence. Looking ahead, Clem noticed the corner of the fence had been knocked down and past it she saw one more animal’s skeleton. Whenever that was the last one or there had been others who had escaped, she didn’t know.

Clem headed for the barn next, where she found nothing of interest, then the farmhouse just beyond it, which wasn’t much better. There was no food left, the dressers were left half-empty from when the previous occupants had fled, and the interior dotted with leaves, dirt, and other things that had likely blown in through the windows over the last two years. Having found nothing of value, Clem returned to her bike and resumed her lonely search.

“Pawhuska’s gone,” informed Devlin over the radio. “I was holding out hope this far into Osage land we’d find signs of them, but nothing.”

“When we investigated Hominy and the surrounding area, you said the damage was much worse than you expected and speculated it was possible troops from Oklahoma City could still be here into the Osage Nation,” reminded Sin. “Do you think they could be this far in?”

“Doubtful,” said Devlin. “We already knew the people living out here had consolidated on the area bordering Tulsa a long time ago. Even if OKC came in this far, Pawhuska looks abandoned like everywhere else, not burnt down and shot to hell like Hominy was…”

“I guess there’s probably not any Osage left,” concluded Sarah.

“Or any troops,” added Sin.

“Or if there are, they went in a different direction than us,” noted Devlin.

“We’re already halfway across the Osage Nation, and we still haven’t found anyone,” said Sarah. “Although, it’s a big area.”

“And empty,” added Sin. “This is our third day, and we still haven’t found a suitable place for the farm.”

“Only because you two are so picky,” retorted Anthony. “We’ve found tons of abandoned farms now, but for every single one you guys say—”

“We need to find the right one,” recited Sarah.

“Yeah, that,” said Anthony.

“I gotta ask, do we have any room to compromise on this?” said Patty. “I mean, multiple water sources, one big enough to fish in, two acres of flat farmland, buildings with roofs right for rainwater collection; can’t we get by without the fishing or—”

“You were all worried about the workload necessary to run a farm, as you should be,” reminded Sin. “Sarah and I devised what we felt were the bare minimum of necessities needed for the seven of us to run a self-sufficient farm without any help. Remember, we have no running water, no electricity, no animals, and we’re going to have to grow many different things. Farms usually grow many of one thing because different crops have different requirements, but we’d have no one to sell a surplus to, so—”

“I get it!” insisted Anthony.

“I did find a small river,” reported Patty. “I guess I can follow it for a while, see if it borders any farms.”

“Keep us posted.”

Clem slowed to a stop as she spotted something sitting in the road. Using her binoculars, she could see it was a black bicycle; Patty’s bicycle, which she had lent to Jet. Clem had known he was making a sweep of this area, but didn’t think she’d already looped back into the area he was surveying. Rolling her bike up to his, she looked around for any sign of the boy and spotted someone standing on a small hill in the distance.

“Jet!”

Clem watched as the figure turned around; it was him, and he started waving for her to come closer. She hopped off her bike and started walking across the hill. “Did you find something?” asked Clem as she moved up to join him. “It looks like it’s just cattle farms and ranches around here, no…” Clem looked out at the mass of metal debris blanketing a field leading up to a large broken metal tube. “Whoa.”

“Yeah.” Jet started moving down the hill, Clem following behind him. Charred chunks of metal littered the entire area, seemingly weaved into the thin layer of dead grass they were walking across. Even trying to avoid the bigger pieces, Clem heard harsh metal crunches under her shoes as she moved forward. Most of the debris was so badly burnt it was difficult to tell what they used to be. It wasn’t until she got closer to the tube in the distance an image of a passenger plane started to form in Clem’s head.

Approaching the broken fuselage sitting just beyond the debris field, Clem found herself becoming tense. Jet pulled his machete while Clem readied her tomahawk as the two stepped into what remained of the dark tube. Listening to their feet echo across that metal gave Clem a shiver, and carefully scanning the area made her paranoid something was going to jump out at her.

Jet suddenly raised his machete over his head as he pulled open a large cabinet, only to find nothing inside. Facing forward, the pair found themselves staring at a partially opened door just ahead. They moved in close, Jet approached the door while Clem traded her tomahawk for her pistol. He slowly pulled it open and Clem could see a wrecked cockpit inside. Jet briefly stuck his head back past the entrance then looked back at Clem.

“It looks empty.”

She followed Jet in, discovering a couple of seats facing cracked windows that looked out over the empty fields. Clutching her gun in her hand, Clem crept past the edge of the seat only to discover it was empty. There were a few stains on it that may have been blood, but were so faded it was hard to tell. Looking over, Clem saw Jet standing right beside her examining the other empty seat.

“I guess we shouldn’t have expected to find anything,” concluded Jet.

“You never know anymore,” said Clem as she put her pistol away.

“We’re out of the sun in here,” noted Jet. “You want to stop for lunch?”

“Sure.” The pair shut the door, piled their equipment into the corner and removed a couple of cans from their packs. Sitting down in the seats, Clem found something odd about looking out at an empty field through a cracked windshield. Observing the desolate landscape from the confines of an abandoned vehicle didn’t feel much different than sitting in the Brave actually.

“Thanks again for the hat.” Clem looked over to see Jet was wearing the Apollo cap she had given him not long after they met.

“It’s no problem,” she assured. “I’m surprised it fits you; I thought it was too small for me.”

“Granddad did some stuff to it make it bigger,” said Jet as he removed the cap. “He said I should just get a bigger hat, but I told him I’m probably never going to find another one like this now that we’ve left Houston. I think he likes that it says ‘Failure is not an option’, so he made little cuts in the back that let me stretch it out more; he’s handy like that, when he wants to be. Although I guess it’s silly wanting to keep this so bad, but…”

“You like it,” concluded Clem. “That’s a good enough reason to keep it.”

“I tell myself that I’m wearing this to remind me that if people could travel into space, then we can at least survive,” mused Jet. “But really, I just like it, like you said. If you had any more NASA stuff I’d wear it too.”

“We have a NASA jacket for when OJ gets bigger, but I don’t think your granddad could ever stretch it enough for you to wear it,” informed Clem. “We used to have a toy space shuttle too, but OJ lost it.”

“How?” asked Jet. “Doesn’t he stay in the RV most of the time?”

“He does, but he managed to lose it anyway. One day he had it, the next day he didn’t, and we couldn’t find it anywhere. He did the same thing with a pink marker we gave him once and some other stuff. Sarah thinks one day we’re just going to find some spot in the Brave where OJ has been hiding everything, but I think he probably just threw them in the trash and we didn’t notice until it was too late.”

Clem fished some corn out of her can and started chewing on it.

“So what do you think happened?” said Jet.

“To this plane?” asked Clem.

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “Maybe someone was bitten, got on a plane, turned into a walker, then caused it to crash.”

“Yeah, probably.” Jet twirled his spoon around his can and sighed. “I remember when it all started, there was a plane crash on the news.”

“You think it was this one?” asked Clem.

“No, they said this happened near Dallas, so I guess there were two plane crashes that day… at least. At the time, people were worried about if it was terrorists or an accident or… something else. I guess it was the last one.”

“We still don’t really know what happened,” said Clem. “Not really, other than people turn into walkers now when they die or get bitten by one. You didn’t hear anything on TV that told you why this happened did you?”

“No, at least I don’t think; it all happened so fast,” said Jet as he shook his head. “I remember waking up that morning, seeing that plane crash on TV, and thinking how horrible it was. Around noon, the news was on every major channel, and they were talking about a riot in downtown Houston, and Granddad called to say he’d be coming home early. By the time he got back, there was an emergency broadcast on every channel telling everyone to stay indoors. It stayed on TV for a few days, then there was nothing…”

“I remember me and my babysitter being annoyed most of the channels didn’t have our favorite shows on, so we just did other stuff. It wasn’t until I was getting ready for bed did I know something was wrong. My babysitter thought she heard someone knocking on the door and went to check.”

“It was a walker, wasn’t it?”

“I heard her scream, then I found her in the kitchen, bleeding all over herself… then she tried to kill me. It just got worse after that.”

“I always thought things would have to get better eventually, but they never really did,” spoke Jet in a quiet voice. “Well, except meeting you and Sarah and Patty.”

“Things got better after you met us?” asked Clem. “I mean, we just told you how bad things really were and that New Orleans was wrecked.”

“Yeah, don’t remind me. But, for once, people said they would help us, and you did… that was probably the best thing that happened to us in a long time.” Clem looked over at Jet, hunched over in his seat and he scrapped the bottom of his empty can. “Thanks…” he spoke in a whisper.

“Don’t thank us yet,” insisted a weary Clem as she tossed her empty can aside. “We’ve still got a lot to do.”

The pair gathered their equipment and returned to their bikes to pedal off in opposite directions. Clem didn’t like traveling alone, likely no one did these days, but with such a wide area to search they had little choice. No matter how far she went she could only find more empty space spreading out in every direction. If not for the utility poles and what remained of the road, Clem would suspect that no one had ever lived here to begin with.

Eventually, she found a worn but still paved road breaking from the highway, with power lines leading off in the same direction, meaning there had to be something this way. Following this path for a while, she found herself passing by a fairly large pond; a possible water source for their own farm Clem thought. She was going to detour towards it for a closer look when Clem noticed a truck parked on the road in the distance.

Skidding to a sudden stop, Clem used her binoculars to examine the vehicle. She could see the truck was parked between a gap in a fence, which was obscured by the dead trees bordering it. At first she assumed the truck was being used to block the road, but upon closer inspection she noticed the hood had been popped and one of the doors was open. Clutching her gun as she approached the vehicle, Clem saw more signs of it being abandoned, with all the tires being flat and the seats being covered in a thin layer of dirt. Checking under the hood, Clem saw a lot of disconnected cables and stray tools resting on the engine.

Moving past the truck and the fence, Clem discovered a one-story house just beyond them. A quick survey of the building revealed nothing out of the ordinary or any recent signs of habitation. Stepping out onto the back patio, Clem spotted something at the end of the yard she hadn’t noticed during her immediate inspection of the house’s exterior. Moving past the swimming pool half full of murky green water, Clem discovered three grave markers.

They weren’t as crude as the crosses made from random scraps of wood the military had left behind in areas they cleared out, but they were still primitive. They were little more than planks of wood cut in the shape of graves, the words carved on them barely legible. The first two graves had just names, likely James and Eleanor from Clem’s best guess, but the third one had ‘I’M SORRY’ written across it in big letters. Looking down, she saw this last marker stood in front of a grave that was still partially open.

Peering into it, Clementine could see the outline of a corpse only half covered in dirt, the vacant eye sockets of its head staring up at her. As distasteful as she found to do so, she gripped her tomahawk tightly and swung its blade into the rotten skull, creating a sickening crunch as she caved in what remained of this person’s face. Pulling out her tomahawk, Clem spotted something metal sitting in the corner of the grave.

Pushing aside the dirt with her hand, she discovered a pistol sitting right next to the deceased's head. Examining the weapon, she found it was in poor shape, filthy and rusted likely from being left in the dirt for so long. Removing the magazine was difficult as it refused to slide out, and even using her bayonet it was hard to pry the piece from the rest of the gun. There were still six bullets inside, and one more in the chamber after Clem managed to cycle the rusted pistol.

Tossing the gun itself back into the hole, Clem noticed a shovel lying in the grass not far from the grave. The house had been devoid of even scraps of food, with jars of condiments having been scraped clean. The broken truck was the only transportation she had seen in the area, with not even so much as a bicycle left in the garage. Considering the gun she found in the grave and the words on the wooden headstone, Clem surmised this person possibly shot themselves after running out of food, likely even climbing into their own grave before they did it.

Whenever or not that was the fate of the other two people, she couldn’t say. She hadn’t seen any overt messages or notes in the house, and she wasn’t keen on going back to look for one. All Clem had was the message ‘I’m sorry’ on the final grave, and even trying to decipher its exact meaning unsettled her. Looking at the still uncovered corpse, Clem felt a sudden urge to finish it. Whenever motivated because of sentimentality or guilt from literally robbing their grave, Clem picked up the shovel and started moving dirt into the hole one scoop at a time.

“Sound off,” Clem heard Devlin say through her radio. “Everyone okay?”

“Yeah,” said Clem as she grabbed her radio. “I’m fine.” Clem took a deep breath as she placed the radio back on her belt, then started shoveling again.

“I’m okay,” she heard Jet say next. “Still haven’t found anything that you guys want though.”

“We’re okay too,” assured Sarah.

“No one has had any luck?” asked Sin.

“None,” reported Patty’s voice.

“You think we’d at least find someone’s leftover crops by now,” reasoned Anthony. “Didn’t you say these Osage people were already growing stuff?”

“They were attacked near the end of the growing season,” answered Devlin. “If they were any survivors, from the Osage or OKC, they probably took whatever was left before leaving.”

“Yeah, but surely there were some corn farmers or something around here,” said Anthony. “Shouldn’t we at least see something growing after they left? I mean, corn grew in the wild before right?”

“Not like we have now,” said Sarah.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Anthony.

“In one of the books I read, it said that most of the fruits and vegetables we eat are only the way they are because people started growing them.”

“What?” asked Patty.

“Well like corn, the book I read said thousands of years ago, corn was a really small and dry grass, and it wasn’t until people started growing it did it change and get a lot bigger like the corn we have now.”

“It just… got bigger?” asked Jet.

“It likely mutated over dozens of generations after it was domesticated,” speculated Sin. “Farmers would obviously want to maximize their yield, so they’d do everything they could to make their crops as fruitful as possible, and over hundreds of years the plants themselves would adapt to their new conditions.”

“Yeah,” said Sarah. “But that means they’re used to being grown on farms now, and don’t do well in the wild.”

“Are you serious?” asked Anthony. “You’re saying we can only grow food on farms now because that’s what they’re used to?”

“Some foods,” said Sarah. “Others were bred with similar or different fruits and vegetables to make them better, or make new ones altogether.”

“Make new fruits and vegetables?” asked Devlin. “Like what?”

“Well, I read lemons were something people created by mixing two different citrus fruits,” said Sarah. “Animals wouldn’t eat something so sour which means they wouldn’t spread its seeds, so the only way they could exist is if people invented them.”

“We invented lemons?” asked Anthony in disbelief. “Um… we invent any other fruits?”

“I seem to remember reading that bananas were similar to lemons,” said Sin. “The ones we got at stores don’t have seeds because they were created by cross-breeding two different types of bananas, and the result was a bigger and better-tasting fruit with no seeds.”

“Wait, if they don’t have seeds, how did we ever make more of them?” asked Patty.

“Probably through cloning,” said Sarah.

“Are you serious?” asked Patty.

“Well, cloning a plant isn’t like cloning animals,” said Sarah. “You cut off part of it, plant it in the ground, then take care of it until it grows into a new plant on its own. When strawberries stop growing berries, they grow these long vines called stolons that grow away from the plant and into the dirt to make a new strawberry plant just like the old one; they actually clone themselves.”

“Stolon?” asked Clem as she stopped shoveling for a second. “That word sounds familiar.”

“Yeah, Dr. Bostwick said it when she was… well not teaching us about plants really.”

“The problem with cloning is there’s no opportunity for the species to adapt if its environment ever changes,” said Sin. “What I read also mentioned the bananas we have now, or had, were actually smaller than the ones people ate until the nineteen-fifties. A disease wiped out most of those types of bananas though, and since they were all clones of each other and couldn’t produce different versions that could possibly adapt, they died out and we had to switch to a different type of banana that wasn’t susceptible to the disease.”

“I thought you were only an expert on oil or something?” asked Anthony.

“I’ve done a lot reading on horticulture and botany lately,” said Sin.

“Me too,” added Sarah.

“How the hell did Valkaria keep all those orange trees going if this stuff is so complicated?” asked Patty.

“Southern Florida was probably the right climate for orange trees to grow,” said Sin.

“And orange trees don’t usually need to be pollinated to grow fruit,” added Sarah. “So you just have to worry about keeping them alive.”

“What about apple trees?” asked Devlin.

“I think I read they need to be near a different kind of apple tree to pollinate each other, otherwise they might not grow any apples,” said Sarah. “I’ll have to check, I brought notes for apple trees.”

“Devlin, do you know what kind of apple trees those saplings should make?” Jet asked.

“I have no idea,” answered Devlin.

“This is all making my head spin,” said Patty.

“I always thought you just put seeds in the ground and that was it,” said Anthony.

“Agriculture is complicated; if it wasn’t, famine never would have been a problem.” Clementine paused as Sin said that. She found herself staring at her own shadow laying on the mound of dirt in front of her, the headstone resting just past it. “The surpluses of food we used to enjoy weren’t by accident; we arrived at that by careful design.”

“And cheap labor, don’t forget that,” added Devlin with a hint of derision. “Which we don’t have.”

“We don’t have anyone who’s an expert on this stuff either,” said Sarah. “If Dr. Bostwick was here—”

“She’s not,” said Clem as she tossed the shovel aside. “Nobody is…” she said as she turned away from the graves. “It’s just us.”

“Yeah, I know…” said Sarah.

“Unless one of you find a suitable site soon, we should prepare to move on,” said Sin. “Sarah and I will check the map to see where we can try tomorrow.”

Clementine returned to her bike and continued her search of the area, finding more emptiness and a few scant abandoned homes that weren’t adequate for their needs. Moving into the late afternoon, Clem reunited with Jet, who confirmed he had no success either. The pair started pedaling back the way they came, eventually arriving at a lone neglected airstrip where two semi-trailers and a couple of familiar RV’s were parked.

Standing behind the Brave, Clem saw Devlin leaned up against the RV.

“Was just about to call you kids,” said Devlin as he tossed his cigarette aside. “You two okay?”

“Yeah,” said Clem as she hopped off her bike.

“Except we didn’t find anything, again,” added Jet.

“Join the club.” Devlin grabbed Clem’s bike and carried it over to Brave’s bike rack. “Pawhuska was a total bust; not even any infected left.”

“We found a crashed plane,” reported Jet as Devlin moved the second bike onto the rack.

“A plane?”

“What’s left of one,” said Clem. “It crashed a long time ago, probably right after everything got bad.”

“Probably just one of many,” said Devlin as he set the second bike on the rack. “That first day, we were hearing reports of all kind of things. Some of us thought it was actually a coordinated attack before we realized it was an outbreak… or whatever the hell it was.” Devlin sighed.

“Do… do you know where Granddad is?”

“He went to chill in his RV after I brought it back from Pawhuska,” said Devlin. “Guess he needed a break.”

“So do I,” said Jet as he headed towards the Sunseeker.

“Me too,” said Clem as she took off her backpack.

“You sure you two are okay doing this?” asked Devlin as Clem headed for the Brave’s door. “I mean, I talked with Sin and he said he was willing—”

“It’s fine Devlin.” Looking over her shoulder at the man, Clem could see the unsettled look resting on his usually chiseled face. “I get it bothers you kids are doing this, but the sooner we find somewhere to stay, the sooner we’ll all feel safer.”

“You ever change your mind or just want a break, you just tell me.”

“I will… thanks Devlin.” Clem managed to force a smile on to her face for the man. She was grateful for his concern, but her mind was too preoccupied to fully appreciate it right now. Heading into the Brave, Clem found herself stepping over boxes and maneuvering past a still unassembled crib in front of the couch just to reach the fridge to store her raincoat.

Tossing her backpack aside, Clem headed for the bedroom as quickly as she could while stepping over large boxes sitting in the way. Inside she found Sarah sprawled out on the bed, surrounded by binders and books while a map was laid out in front of her. She didn’t even look up when Clem entered the room, and appeared exhausted herself.

“Kem-men!” Clem watched as Omid climbed over his crib’s railing to get to her faster.

“Hey OJ,” said Clem as Omid landed on the pillow set outside his crib.

“Omid,” dictated Sarah.

“Huh?”

“You should start calling him Omid,” said Sarah without looking up. “Now that he’s starting to learn words, we shouldn’t confuse him by calling him different names.”

“Kem-men,” repeated Omid as Clem looked away from him.

“He can already kind of say our names,” said Sarah. “But I don’t think he knows his yet because you and I call him different things.”

Clem found herself irritated that this was the first thing Sarah said to her upon her return. “I’m back by the way…” Sarah looked up, clearly annoyed herself, prompting an awkward stare down between the pair for a few seconds before Sarah sighed.

“Sorry,” she said as she looked away. “I had a lot of time today with nothing to do, so I was trying to get him to say Omid and noticed he had trouble with it, even though he’s getting better at saying Sarah.”

“Sah-rah,” repeated Omid.

“Listen to you,” said Clem in a sweet voice. “You’re talking like a big boy now Oh… Omid.”

“Oh-muh,” babbled Omid.

“That’s about as close as he gets right now,” said Sarah as she carefully crawled off the bed.

“I’ll start calling him Omid,” assured Clem as she set him down.

“It won’t be forever, just until he learns his name, and only when he’s around; it doesn’t matter if you call him OJ when it’s just us and he doesn’t hear you.”

“Where’s Patty?” asked Clem.

“She said she was going to meet up with Anthony and check something out before they came back.”

Clem pulled her radio from her belt. “Patty?” Clem waited for a second, but received no answer. “Patty, are you—”

“Give me a minute,” whispered Patty in a harsh tone.

Clem looked over at Sarah and saw she was every bit as concerned. Without thinking, the pair moved back towards the front; Clem collecting her backpack and Sarah heading for the driver’s seat, both anticipating trouble. Watching through the windshield, Clem could see Sin stepping out to meet Devlin, the two men clearly worried about what they had heard over the radio. Sarah already looked ready to turn the key when there was another cracking sound from the radio.

“Okay,” said Patty. “I think we found it.”

“Found what?” asked Clem.

“Sarah, are you there?” asked Patty.

“Yeah.”

“Get your map.” Patty passed along some directions and both RV’s headed for the nearest road. The sun was setting now, but Patty assured the group they didn’t have far to go. From her seat, Clem eventually watched as something come into view just beyond the vast empty fields spread out before them. She could see the orange glow of the sunlight bouncing off water on the horizon. It was pleasant at first, then somewhat blinding as the size of the body of water they were approaching became apparent.

“I think we found a water source,” said Sarah over the radio in awe as she slowed down to get a better view.

“Yes,” said Sin, sounding stunned. “I see that.”

“Bet the fishing’s good too,” added Anthony.

As they drove along a road bordering the lake, Clem could see just how big it really was. It paled in comparison to Lake Pontchartrain or even the Indian River, but it still dwarfed every meager pond and stream they had seen since entering the Osage Nation.

“The lake is just the start,” said Patty. “You’re gonna love what comes next.”

Following the road through a dead forest and over what looked like a small swamp where the lake met the land, the trees began to thin out and an old wooden fence came into view. Beyond that, Clem saw a fenced in field with a pond in the corner and what looked like a stable. Across from it was a big farmhouse with a chimney, along with a smaller guest house and a big shed. Rounding a corner, Clem found themselves moving down a driveway to where Anthony’s truck was parked.

“Come on out,” prompted Patty. “We checked the area, it’s safe.”

Stepping out with the others to examine her surroundings, the group was immediately greeted by Patty and Anthony.

“Whatta think?” asked Anthony as he gestured to their surroundings. “Pretty nice huh?”

Clem moved over to the fenced-in field to study it closer. It was pretty quaint compared to the other fields she had seen, but still seemed big enough for their needs. Staring at that patch dirt, she started envisioning rows of vegetables growing there and her coming out every morning to water them from the large pond sitting in the corner of the field.

“That stable’s roof would be good for rainwater collection.” Clem looked up to see Sin was studying the large structure just past the field. It was long and metal, with deeply slanted roofs. “If we could put some gutters up, we could probably collect barrels of water easily every time it rains.”

“This looks like at least two acres,” said Sarah as she stared out over the field. “At least… I think it is.”

“I also found what looks like a pretty new tractor in that barn that I can probably get running,” said Patty “I think this place was in the process of changing owners or something because the house is almost bare.”

“Bare?” repeated Clem as she moved to get a better look at the house in question.

“Almost nothing in there but some basic furniture; dressers, one big bed and a smaller bed in a separate room, a few tables, chairs, and so on,” listed Patty. “Looks real sturdy though, like they had just finished renovating, two stories, plenty of room, one and a half bathrooms, even has this old timey looking stove that’s part of the kitchen.”

“One and a half bathrooms?” asked Jet.

“One with an actual bathtub on the second floor and then there’s a closet with a toilet and a sink on the first floor,” said Patty.

Studying the house, Clem saw it had a big welcoming front porch leading up to a bright red door. Seeing the chimney in the back, Clem started reminiscing about the many nights she and Sarah had spent in front of a fire in Spokeston, and checking one of the second-story windows, she imagined what the view must have looked like from up there.

“What about the guest house and the shed?” asked Sin.

“Pretty much the same, mostly empty but they look sturdy,” said Patty. “There’s also a storm shelter on the edge of the yard.”

“Ugh, stay away from that,” cautioned Anthony.

“Why?” asked Clem. “What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s creepy.”

“Creepy?”

“It’s small and dark and cramped.”

“It’s a storm shelter Anthony,” said Patty. “It’s what they’re like.”

“Well then I don’t like storm shelters,” said Anthony as he crossed his arms.

“We could probably put up chainlink fence around all of this and the driveway, keep any stray infected who wander in away from us and our vehicles while we’re sleeping,” proposed Devlin. “And all the cover will make this place harder to see.”

Looking around, Clem noticed the entire area was surrounded by dead trees, almost like they were encircling this tiny farm. At the moment their branches were bare and casted twisted shadows over the area, but as spring came and leaves returned, they would block out any view of the outside area, as well as hide the farm from sight from anyone looking in. Again, Clem found herself picturing what it would look like, and found the idea of a home tucked away in a small forest very comforting.

“I’m concerned about how close this place is to Pawhuska though,” said Sin. “We can’t be more than a few miles away, and that lake we passed is big enough that it’s probably on most maps of the area.”

“Being close to Pawhuska might not be a bad thing,” said Devlin. “It might not have any food, but there’s still plenty of tools and goods we can salvage; save us a long trip back to Tulsa if we ever need anything.”

“The lake is on the map in my atlas, but it doesn’t list a name for it,” said Sarah. “It’s a lot smaller than the one we checked out near Hominy though.”

“You can’t have it both ways man,” said Anthony. “Anywhere with a big ass lake or river isn’t going to be totally isolated because other people are going to want water for the same reasons we do.”

“We did spend some time scouting around the edge of it,” said Patty. “Lot a little small docks built just past the shore, probably for people to go boating in the summer, but we didn’t see any other farms or big houses, let alone one as close as this.”

“That’s another thing, there’s some distance between that lake and this actual farm,” said Sin. “Trying to build a trench out to here from it would be a challenge.”

“Seriously?” asked Patty. “This is pretty much everything you and Sarah have been asking for. We haven’t seen anything else even close, not on these damn country roads we’ve been searching.”

“And the longer we wait the closer we’re going to get to the growing season,” said Sarah. “It’s already early March, and we haven’t even started yet.”

“Kem-men! Sah-rah!” Clem spun around to see Omid slowing climbing down the Brave’s steps one at a time.

“I gotcha you.” Clem picked up the boy, then looked ahead at the spacious house and large yard in front of her. “I vote we stay,” announced Clem suddenly.

“Ditto,” said Anthony.

“I think we all do except you,” said Patty as she turned to Sin. The man crossed his arms and looked out over the land, slowly evaluating everything with a careful eye. “Well?”

“I think we should search the immediate area a little more thoroughly.”

“Granddad, are you seriously—”

“Just to be sure there are no immediate threats in this region, or even better places to settle on this same lake,” explained Sin. “We can do that tomorrow, and if we don’t find anywhere better to settle, we could probably make this place work for us.”

“Good enough for me,” said Patty. “Anthony, give me and Devlin a lift back to the airstrip so we can bring the trucks up. Unless we stumble upon Xanadu in northern Oklahoma tomorrow, we’ll probably be off-loading them before long.”

“Got it.”

“Come on Clem, we should—” Clem took a step towards the house.

“Let’s go inside,” she said.

“Why?” asked Sarah.

“To see our new home.”

“We don’t know—”

“If we stay here, it’ll be our new home; don’t you want to at least see what it looks like first?” Clem looked down to see Omid trying to approach her while Sarah held onto one of his hands. “Omid wants to see his new home.”

“Oh-muh,” he repeated as he kept trying to pull free from Sarah.

“All right,” said Sarah as she took a step forward, bringing Omid close enough to Clem to hold his other hand. “Let’s check it out.”

The trio pushed past the big red door and emerged into a spacious foyer. The house was largely bare as Patty had described it, but Clem found herself quickly growing comfortable with her surroundings anyway as she kept envisioning filling in the empty spaces with their own possessions. Their books in the book shelves, their pots and pans in the kitchen cabinets, even their laundry hanging in the backyard.

The living room was spacious with a massive brick fireplace positioned in the back, which the girls had to stop an excitable Omid from crawling into. Sarah suggested a table in front the fireplace would be a great place to spend evenings playing games together. Picturing it, Clem saw it as something big and open like the cabin while being cozy and comfortable like their home in Spokeston; she felt warmer just thinking about it.

Heading back to the foyer and towards the stairs, the pair stopped to help Omid climb his way up. He still struggled to scale each step, but seemed to enjoy the challenge, looking more determined with each one he conquered. Reaching the top, Clem pushed open the nearest door and the trio entered an almost entirely empty room. Except for the window and the empty closet, it was a bare four walls and Clem was about to leave when she felt Omid pulling free from her grip.

“Omid, come on.”

“No,” said Omid as he pulled away from the girls. He walked further into the room, awestruck or perhaps just confused by his surroundings.

“I don’t get it, what’s he looking at?” said Sarah.

Clem watched as Omid stood in the middle of the room, his mouth agape as he kept staring up at the blank ceiling.

“He’s never been in a room this big before,” realized Clem.

“He hasn’t?” said Sarah. “At the Space Center we—”

“Not like this, where it’s just a regular room you stay in,” said Clem. “Everywhere he’s stayed has always been really cramped. Even back in Spokeston, he stayed in a bedroom with us, and it was smaller than this. This is… it’s like more space than he’s ever had before.”

“You’re right,” noted Sarah as she knelt down to get a better look at Omid. “Do you like this room?”

“Do you like your new room?” corrected Clem.

“Ruh-roo.” Omid eventually turned his gaze downward, and instead started walking over to the window. Clem scooped him up and held him up to the glass. “Ah-bree-duh-ah-sah!” he cheered as planted his hands on the window.

“It’s perfect,” said Clem with a smile.

“Really?” said Sarah. “It’s empty.”

“Exactly,” said an excited Clem. “We can make a room just for Omid, one that he can grow up in and be happy in for years.”

“All we have to do now is learn how to run a farm,” said Sarah, sounding less enthusiastic.

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter - First Chapter

[newtonsheffield]

Hi! I love B&S so much and I just wanted to say that your work is so perfect for getting out of my head. Every night I log on and read your drabbles or headcanons and no joke, it help calms me enough to sleep ❤️

That being said, I was wondering if you had any hurt/comfort with Benedict and Sophie? I can’t get this thought out of my head that she may be really worried that he searched for her for so long and was disappointed with their relationship after building it up in his head. So maybe some Sophie angst with Benedict comforting her and telling her how much he loves their relationships??

Thank you again for everything you’ve created!

Hello!

I’ll be honest, I use writing these as a bit of an escape as well so it’s nice that other people find some sort of calmness in my very chaotic writing style! And as long as it’s not putting you to sleep from boredom, I’ll take it! But honestly, thank you so much for your kindness towards my work I’m not sure what I’ve done to deserve it but I am very very thankful for it!

Okay! I s would be a very real concern for anyone no? Going out with a guy that supposedly looked for you for 12 months? Talk about pressure man. Anyway! Let’s dive in and torture Sophie a little.

Sophie Beckett could admit, in the early months of her relationship with Benedict Bridgerton, she was nervous a good 75% of the time she was with him. Or in fact any member of the Bridgerton family. As though Violet would stand at the end of their Sunday dinner and say Sophie this has been lovely but it’s time for you to leave Ben alone now Sweetheart. Or Kate would hand her a bag at the end of brunch and say And now all the trash can leave together. It wasn’t that she didn’t think the relationship was going well, Benedict seemed perfectly happy when he hummed Taylor Swift songs in her ear as they fell asleep with their legs intertwined but, as she’d never been good enough for anyone before she couldn’t possibly imagine how she’d ever be good enough for this man. Or his terribly kind family.

Sophie was an independent person by necessity if not By nature. And so asking for help had become something that she’d rather walk across hot coals to do. She still remembered Benedict’s absolutely bewildered face when she flopped down on his couch and explained that she’d spent all day hauling a new bookshelf flat pack up the three flights of stairs to her tiny little flat and them assembling it. Why didn’t you ask me? He’d said, his brow furrowing in confusion. Sophie who’d been barely paying attention as she took off the mittens Benedict’s sister Daphne had thrust into her hands last week at dinner (You and Ben have Green to match your eyes, Daphne had said and Sophie had had to choke back tears as she’d looked around the room at everyone trying on their new mittens, Lucy batting Gregory on the nose with their matching bright red ones) said Ask you what? And Ben had eyed her carefully Ask me to help with your bookshelf? Lifting heavy things is what we boyfriends do according to Greg and Anthony. And Sophie had stopped dead, because she knew if she’d called him he would have cancelled his day, driven her to IKEA and assembled whatever she wanted. She’d thought about it last night even but she hadn’t been able too because her step mother’s voice had rung through her mind Will you ever stop being a burden, Sophia? But how could she tell Ben that without being even more of a burden so she just shrugged and said At least I don’t have to work out now. And Ben had laughed and said Just call me next time, I’ll bring the boys if it’s too big a job. They won’t mind. And Sophie couldn’t quite manage to choke out that she would though

Sophie had tried desperately to get out of coming to the awards night with Benedict. Desperately. But then he’d looked at her with his sad eyes and said But I think my editorial with Eddie is going to win! And she’d given in. And she really did want to be there to support him, she did. But god, how was she going to stand in that room and feel enough for him when she couldn’t even do it in their house. And she knew it wasn’t fair, she knew that Ben loved her she felt it all the time, she just wished she could deserve it. And so she’d found herself very panickedly on the phone once more begging Kate Bridgerton for some kind of assistance and Kate had tugged her upstairs to a closet, looked mournfully down at her pregnant stomach and said Someone May as well enjoy them. And so here she sat sandwiched between Ben whose hand was firmly wrapped around her shoulder and Edwina Sheffield who a person couldn’t help but feel painfully inadequate next too when she was without a doubt the most beautiful woman in the room, and to make matters worse, unfairly kind, trying desperately to look as though she fitted in in Kate’s borrowed dress. And then, across the room she’d seen her. And her body went cold.

Sophie had excused herself into the corridor as soon as the dinner portion was done, trying desperately to calm her breathing down, there was no need to panic, she probably hadn’t even seen her, she prayed she hadn’t at least, but god wasn’t listening. Sophie Beckett, Well well well like mother like daughter Her step sister Rosamund’s voice rang through the hall and Sophie was rooted to the spot, her fingernails digging into her palms in a desperate bid to keep herself from crying Clawing your way up the social ladder by getting on your knees. I’ll admit, it was nice of him to take you out for a night in thanks but you don’t think he’s actually going to marry trash like- But A different voice cut across hers like ice, and Rosamund’s face paled as Edwina said firmly Sophie, there you are! Ben And I have been looking for you! Rosamund, such a surprise to see you I wasn’t aware they usually invited car show models. And then she took Sophie, very stunned at the cold tone where she’d only ever known warmth from Edwina,firmly by the arm and marched her away.

Before Sophie knew what was happening Edwina had whispered firmly in her ear Don’t listen to a word she said, Sophie, you are so incredible I’m going to get Ben. And Sophie could hear and and odd gasping noise that she realised was coming from her when tears hit the back of her hand. And then Ben’s voice, cracking with emotion was saying Soph? And she couldn’t help but collapse against him, her tears soaking into the chest of his very expensive tuxedo. Another thing she’d ruined for him. And he held her as she cried, right there in an alleyway until her breathing evened out and she whispered into the night I’m sorry I ruined everything, and I’m sorry I can’t be who you deserve. And Benedict had pulled back suddenly, startling her a little as he forced her eyesight to his, his eyes looked so intense when he said Listen to me, Sophie. You are more than enough for me. I wonder every day what I did to deserve you. You deserve to have whatever you want in life and god help me, Sophie I’m going to give it to you. And when their lips met in soft kiss, as rain started to sprinkle around them, she started to believe it.

This got longgggg I’m so sorry! Don’t know what’s wrong with me today!