#Bishop is a 'bigger picture kind of guy.' always has been always will be

[adelrambles]

Idk if you’ve ever fully answered this on your blog but: DO YOU THINK Bishop fully redeemed himself in the future? By becoming president and uniting all races? Or is he still 🗑️

Oh man no, I don't think Bishop's Good Guy act is all that genuine. I think there's some change, but at his base, beneath all the subterfuge, he's still the same guy. I may have gone over this on the blog before, but like ey what am I gonna just get handed this opportunity to ramble ad nauseum and not take it? NEVER

There are a few pieces of evidence we can read into regarding the faux-ness of Bishop's new persona. First and foremost, for me, is the two instances where he presents the turtles with his "origin story," so to speak. In each instance, he keeps the details vague, and is very hesitant to admit to any direct wrong-doing on his part. The first story is so vague on the details that it feels like he's trying to brush past the turtles' concerns as quickly as possible. The SECOND, though. Bishop consistently dances around going into any detail about what he did or why it was wrong. And he goes on to push all of the blame onto Stockman! I mean honestly, he says Stockman "took things too far." Like dude!! We already know nothing is "too far" for you! It's very suspect to me that the subsequent lab collapse could have been ALL Stockman's fault. Bishop also elevates his own accomplishments and takes full credit for the success of the PGA. Idk but there's something really insidious to me about how he presents the information to make himself look as good as possible-- and the way he's able to convince at least a few of his former enemies that he's trustworthy.

There are other little inconsistencies in his behavior, like him writing off the turtles' warnings about Sh'Okanabo. The Bishop I know is a paranoid freak, he would never in a million years brush off a lead on a possible threat without checking it at all. And if we assume that, then that suggests Bishop said as much to give the turtles the impression it wasn't something worth looking into, meaning he was probably trying to direct their attention away for some reason. All of this tells me (if we just. ignore the possibility of it being a writing flaw agdhgshd) that Bishop is still a very cold and calculating personality, fully willing to throw others to the wolves for his own purposes, but he is WAY better at manipulting, now.

I've said before that I find it likely Bishop's weakest point is his social skills; we see that his superior officers (i.e. the president) dislike him-- which, frankly, is a detriment to his cause as it put his funding in jeopardy at least once that we know of-- and everyone he meets tends to come away some level of discomfitted. So what FF presents us with is a Bishop who needed to improve these skills for the sake of his ultimate goal. If the safety of earth requires friendly relations with aliens, then he needed to become an ambassador, and if he needed to become an ambassador, then he needed to be less overtly unpleasant. Thus, he changed tack. As a result, we have someone who appears trustworthy and is very good at lying and directing your attention, but is just as utilitarian as ever under the mask. That's just his job, after all.

Other details include:

- His intro. We see Bishop personally taking time out to go through monitors all over the city. He apparently has a very thorough surveillance system that he reviews himself. Again, paranoid freak.

- When addressing the turtles, we sometimes see him slip back into snarkier comments. This usually happens when he's frustrated (snapping at them for not attacking the Mouser fast enough for his tastes,) or when he's not being obeyed (making a snide comment about Cody having nightmares when they refuse to exclude him from a mission briefing.)

- As my friend Trauma pointed out to me recently, when storming the moonbase Bishop's men had their guns defaulted to lethal force, he had to give the order to switch to non-lethal. He was fully ready to wipe that place out.

- His willingness to include the turtles and later Cody on missions strikes me as, yknow, very utilitarian in its own right. Cuz those are teenagers, yeah. It could be argued that Bishop can't tell how old the turtles are but he definitely knows Cody is young, and knows well enough that he shouldn't be in a combat situation. But in the finale he praises Cody's decision to defy him and fight anyway. So what changed? In essence, Cody was effective. Bishop is fine with child soldiers as long as they do a good job (and can't be publicly traced back to him.)

Also like did you see that car chase? He ran civilians off the road and did not give a FUCK. That's the same guy.

[brattyfics]

— until we meet again, preciosa

PAIRING || bishop losa x black!ofc, miguel galindo x black!ofc (mentioned)

SUMMARY || She’s not his, and she won’t ever be, so he leaves her with words whispered like a promise. “Until we meet again, preciosa.”

TAGS || angst, unresolved feelings, not a hea, mentions of toxic relationships, sex (referenced).

WORD COUNT || 1.6k

Shadowy clouds hang overhead, blocking out the warming glow of the Sun. Raindrops pelt the roof above, drumming a beat of their own before pooling down to the concrete paved streets below. Isis watches stray droplets gather on the tall windows for several moments before stepping out onto the covered balcony. It felt colder than usual inside the three-story, Spanish-style shophouse, but outside it’s the opposite-- balmy, earthy. The air is heavy with humidity, so she has to take deep breaths, but she doesn’t enjoy it any less. Invigoration comes with the rain, brings hope for new beginnings, renews faith for the hopeless.

Down below, people dart between vendors to continue their shopping as the rain lightens. Colorful rays spring from puddles up towards the sky. A pair of young siblings splash each other while their mother sells delicious smelling tamales wrapped in banana leaves. Another young woman peddles gold necklaces, praying candles, and other little knick-knacks to the tourists of Sonora. Everybody has to make a living, including Isis.

She spends her days stroking the strings of a guitar or the keys of her piano, helping patrons of the music shop in between. The ground floor of the shophouse boasts string instruments and an extensive collection of vinyl records. After hours, she makes money hosting private piano lessons. She performs at the Discoteca down the street on weekends, fueling her passion for music almost 24/7 except when Preciosa is closed for ‘maintenance’.

Overstock merchandise and whatever else the Mayans’ Motorcycle Clubs needs to store clutters the second floor. Don’t ask, don’t tell is her motto, so whenever they come to the shop, she simply flips the sign to closed. There’s no point in fighting it. Besides, El Presidente always makes it a bearable, if not pleasant, experience. Bishop had called ahead to warn her that he was bringing Hank, Angel, and the new prospect, Angel’s baby brother, along. She could hear them bumping around, a noisy reminder that her shop only thrived because of the illegal deals happening in the back.

“Why don’t you put all that time and energy into something that’ll get you somewhere?” Being a musician wasn’t an acceptable career in her mother’s eyes, so the woman took every chance she could to crush her daughter’s dreams. “Nobody wants to hear all that noise!” Staring out into the street, she can’t help but wonder where she would’ve ended up if her mother had been supportive. Maybe she could have been a star rising to the top of Billboard charts or someone who worked behind the scenes, writing songs, singing demos. She had the skill set. Yes, her path would have been much different.

Isis had stood front and center, crooning out an old school blues song at a hole-in-the-wall spot when Miguel Galindo first laid eyes on her. It was a chance meeting, one that felt like fate at the time because dive bars weren’t his scene. The owner was a business associate who decided to try his hand at being a restaurateur; Miguel had been kind enough to come out and support. When he caught sight of her shapely frame in a slinky, satin number, he insisted on being introduced.

Miguel stood out in a crowd, wearing a tailored button-down, dark dress pants, and an expensive pair of Italian leather shoes. His salt and pepper beard groomed to perfection, hair gelled so that no strand was out of place. The moment she’d looked into his eyes, she was caught in his web. His masculine scent drew her in like honey to a bee. His charisma held her attention. Miguel sweet-talked her all night, insisting Isis sit next to him, eat h’orderves, and drink overpriced champagne. She obliged. Who could say no to that face? He used their close proximity to reel her in like a fish on a hook, leaning down to whisper in her ear. You’re beautiful. He told her. You have such a smooth, seductive tone. You should be performing for bigger crowds. Have you ever thought about branching out? He told her everything her mother never had, so she was a lamb to the slaughter.

For months, Miguel had treated her like his very own LifeSize doll to play with. He took her on shopping sprees, kept her draped in silk and lace. Isis didn’t think of herself as materialistic, but she couldn’t deny being showered in gifts felt splendid. He was always so tender, handling her delicately as his newest prized possession. As time went on, she became more like an ornament. Something for him to marvel at when he felt like it and then hide away the rest of the time. But nothing was worse than him leaving her to harden after he was finished molding her like clay. She asked for more—time, commitment, only for him to do the opposite.

Thus, Preciosa was born. A way for him to placate her and later make it easier for the M.C. to make him money.

“Just a few more minutes, and we’ll be out your way.” Isis jumped at the sound, turning away from the street to see Bishop. She hadn’t heard him come outside; didn’t expect him to venture up into her personal space.

Isis’ smile rarely reached her eyes, Bishop noticed. He stepped forward, holding a velvet box that felt heavier than it was. Her fingertips tickled him as he passed it over. Diamonds surrounded in white gold gleamed as the clouds cleared away for the Sun. Even Bishop could admit the set was gorgeous, but she didn’t look impressed. He hated being Galindo’s delivery boy, watching the way her face fell when the gifts she received became increasingly impersonal with each week. Not long ago, he’d also been tasked with passing along handwritten love notes or antique music sheets that she caressed like she would a lover’s skin.

“Thank you.”

She couldn’t hide her disappointment from him. Not for lack of trying-- Miguel always reminded her, appearances were everything. Smile. Don’t make me look bad. But Bishop watched her closely, knew her tells. Despite every nerve in his brain urging him to walk away, he steps forward to stand next to her. His calloused hands rest on the balcony’s edge next to her delicate pair, brown in varying tones of sepia and mahogany contrasting against the white paint.

Bishop feels the heat of her eyes on his frame, but he doesn’t let himself respond. Sharing this moment, a quick breath of fresh air will have to be enough. But she’s all around him, smelling of florals and sweet spices. He can’t think. He fumbles with his pockets in search of a cigarette. “You mind?” She shakes her head but is otherwise silent. Still watching him as he smokes; the way he takes long, steady pulls, cradling the stick between his full lips and then between his strong, veined fingers. She would bet her last dollar that he was an expert at other things involving his fingers and mouth.

When his hand drops again, she links her pinky with his, hesitant but exploratory.

Bishop looks at her, really looks at her like he sees her. It’s nice to be seen, especially when you’re the princess locked up far, far away from everyone you’ve ever known. She’s a black girl from Texas living in Sonora for goodness’ sake. This is no life, and she knows it. Several moments pass where neither can look away, both weighing their desires with the potential consequences.

With a deep breath in, she musters up the courage to ask Bishop what she’s been wanting to for months.

“Stay?”

Her heart feels like it might just explode while she waits for a response.

Bishop drops his head to his chest, cursing under his breath. “Fuck.” If Miguel ever found out… But he already knew what his answer would be. He’d been waiting for the invitation. The heated looks they exchanged, the way her fingers lingered on his when he passed her something. That damned pout she wore when Miguel forgot to send a flower arrangement-- she had no idea Bishop had been the one buying the flowers for some time now. No matter what mood she was in, fresh flowers always brightened her day. He loved watching that lonely look transform into something more lively, curious as she marveled over his choice for the week. He went for variety, slowly learning what she loved and what she just liked; her favorite color, favorite scent.

The subtle tension between them, he wasn’t even certain she noticed. The cash and the bling could’ve blinded her to all other men. But it didn’t.

When the Sun had gone down several hours later, and the guys were gone, Bishop redressed. Belt buckling with a clink, leather sliding over his shoulders easily. He let himself take one last look at her wrapped up in a poofy comforter set. The mustard-yellow velvet complimented her skin in the best way, bringing out a gold undertone. Her eyes seem to have brightened as well. He couldn’t resist leaning over to stroke her sweaty skin. Dark coils stuck to her beautiful face, frizzy in some parts from when she rode him, sweat escaping from her pores, flat in the others from when he laid her on her back and hooked her legs over her shoulders.

He wants to stay, to prop himself up against the intricately carved wood headboard and hold her in his lap while they whisper sweet nothing to each other, but he can’t.

She’s not his, and she won’t ever be, so he leaves her with words whispered like a promise. “Until we meet again, preciosa.”

NOTES || This fic and the collage above was inspired by @isisafrofairy’s gorgeous moodboard! Also, the wonderful “Until we meet again, preciosa” line is hers as well. This is my thank you for the moodboard you made for me. I really leaned on the pictures you used for inspiration and I think I managed to capture/include each element. It was so hard not to ruin the surprise, but I was able to shut tf up for once 😂 I’m really proud of how this turned out, and hopefully you enjoy it just as much! Also, I realize the moodboard had nothing to do with Miguel but he lives in my head rent-free apparently 🥴

GENERAL TAGLIST || @woahitslucyylu @briannab1234 @sheeshgivemeabreak @breakingnewsin-no-oneasked @angelreyesgirl @blessedboo @glimmerglittergirl @apantherinmypastlife @brownsugarcoffy @marvelmaree @starrynite7114 @scuzmunkie @thewarriorprincessxo @sadeyesgf @pearlkitten33 @imanerdychubbyqueen @literaturefeen @ourlittlesecretsoveragain @everyhowlmarksthedead @yourwonkywriter @trulysuccubus @sparklemichele @luckyharley1903 @thesandbeneathmytoes​ @amorestevens​

MAYANS M.C. TAGLIST || @cant-decide-at-this-moment

[strawberrywritings]

Personal gratitude.

A/N: I am sorry about not posting, but I promise I’ll try to be more consistent!🙈 so let tell you how i wrote this: I was thinking about making a Bishop smut (long ovedue), but I had no plot… until @spookyboogyuniverse sent me a message. I changed a bit the relationship between the reader and Nestor+Miguel, but the main points of the plot are the same. Emily is nowhere to be seen because that’s how I like it lmao I really hope you guys like it! Xx🍓💖

Warning: mentions of violence, oral sex (female receiving), protected sexual intercourse, dirty talk, shitty plot and probably bad grammar i am so rusty

/ Masterlist

Summary: Alvarez gets kidnapped and you’re with Miguel and Nestor when they get the news: you offer your help, as Miguel calls the Mayans to join the search. After Marcus is found, everyone celebrates and the president has a unique way of showing his gratitude.

When shit went down, you immediately sensed it was something big, especially with the way Miguel and Nestor were looking. Being childhood friends with them, and not being a stranger to this life, you had waited for them to finish their meeting, and had offered to help.

/

“I know I may not have the same amount of connections you two have, but I know some people. I could call them and tell ‘em to keep an eye out”, you said, and Miguel looked at Nestor, not because he didn’t trust you, but he knew that this situation had to be handled with caution, so he wanted to make sure it would not compromise things even more.

When Nestor nodded, you stepped outside and started making calls, telling everyone only what they needed to know to make sure this whole thing ended quickly. You followed them with your car, making a few stops as Miguel alerted people.

“What the…”, you muttered to yourself as Miguel’s car, with Nestor driving, headed outside the city and towards the desert. You parked the car right behind them, hopping off and about to question what the hell you were doing in the middle of nowhere, but the sound of engines caught your attentions: quite a few bikes made their way to where you were standing, and you immediately recognized their kutte. Everyone knew who the Mayans were, but you had no idea Miguel worked with them. Eight men made their way towards Miguel, as you kept stading off to the side, your back leaned against your car while you waited for them to finish talking.

You might’ve been quiet, but your presence didn’t go unnoticed; you were focused on Miguel and Nestor explaining everything that happened to a man, who was standing a few steps ahead of the others, “probably the president”, you thought, and from the corner of your eye you could see people’s eyes on you, the exchanged whispers.

“What’s she doing here?”, a voice said, and Nestor looked at you as you narrowed your eyes at the tall man who had spoken. “She’s with me, you got a problem with that?”, Miguel said, never taking his eyes off the same man you were watching, and everyone was quick to say “no” and apologize.

/

Fast forward to the day after. Turns out, your contacts were able to actually help with Alvarez’s kidnapping, someone had seen the people responsible for it and, thanks to that, Nestor was able to track them down and now they were with Miguel in his church pew, he needed answer and he needed them fast. In less than 2 hours, not only did Miguel manage to find Marcus, but he also got everyone else involved in the kidnapping, and you didn’t have to ask what would happen to them. You might not have been completely involved in this kind of life, but you were no stranger to it. After Miguel had taken off his yellow raincoat and changed his suit, he came back home and joined you in the living room.

“I remember when we took that picture, I ate that awful soup she made because it was the only way she would let me go out and play”, he said, you could hear the smile in his face and you turned around, smiling, too. It was nice to be back to “normal” after the past few days, filled with worry, fear and rage.

“I remember how that soup tasted, I hated it, too”, you giggled, tracing your finger on the frame encasing the picture. Placing it back on the shelf, you smiled at him and got your purse from the sofa. “I think I should go, I am glad I was able to help, though”, you smiled, going over to him and hugging him, kissing his cheek. “Hey, there’s a party at that clubhouse, the Mayans. Marcus will be there and he asked me if you could come, he wants to thank you personally”, Miguel said, smiling at you as you nodded. “Sure, just text me the address”, he nodded and you both said goodbye, saying also goodbye to Nestor on your way out.

That night, you opted for a nice dress, still casual, since you knew where this clubhouse was and it was nothing compared to the parties Miguel usually attended, but it was nice to be celebrating something like this. After parking your car next to the bikes, you made your way inside. The Mayans sure knew how to throw a party. Alcohol and girls were everywhere, but you didn’t have time to make a tour of the place because Nestor got your attention.

“Hey – he greeted you by kissing both of your cheeks – come on, Marcus is eager to thank you”, he smiled, leading you to the man himself. Marcus didn’t look too bad, just a couple scratches on his face, and surely his body, but he was alive. You started talking, him saying how grateful he was that you helped Miguel.

“If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be here”, he said, taking a sip from his beer. You chuckled and shook your head, “I doubt it, Miguel would’ve found you anyways, he’s very good at what he does… I just happened to make the right calls”, you said with a smile. You kept talking for a while, until you excused yourself to go get a drink.

Drink in hand, you leaned your back against the bar and looked around, until your eyes caught the ones of the president himself. Bishop was sitting with some of his men around a table, smoking a cigar. He had his eyes trained on you but from the way his lips moved you could tell he was still carrying on the conversation. Something in his eyes was drawing you in, but you quickly shoved your impure thoughts in the back of your mind and decided to explore the place, instead.

You took a stroll in the outside area, the actual scrapyard, the corridors of the dorms and then you ended up in Templo. You didn’t think nothing of it, examining the colorful door up close, and sitting in one of the chairs, finally some peace and quiet, which you had been craving for the past 72 hours.

“You wanna prospect?”, the voice almost gave you a heart attack, and you turned around to see Bishop staring down at you. “No…?”, you furrowed your brows. “Then unless you’re a patched Mayan, you can’t be in here”, he replied, walking slowly until he reached the bigger chair, right beside you, and he sat down. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t know…”, you had no idea there were rules, and you were ashamed of having broken them, you should’ve known better. You made a move of getting up from your seat, but he his hand caught your wrist before you could turn away. Your eyes went from his hold on you to his eyes, his expression stoic.

“I wanted to thank you”, he said, and it felt like he was shouting, the only sound was the chatter coming from the party. “For what?”. “Marcus es mi primo” Marcus is my cousin, he said, and you shrugged. “It’s no problem, really, I was glad I could help”, you gave him a small smile, but none of you talked more. His eyes were still locked with yours when he got up, his hand always around your wrist as he neared you, his body almost touching yours, almost. “Let me thank you properly”, his lips were centimeters away from yours, all you had to do was push yourself forward and your lips would meet. He didn’t move, letting you decide what to do… did you want this? Your eyes looked at his lips, plump and inviting, he smelled like nicotine and beer and something else and it was so manly. You couldn’t help but to give in, letting your body guide you into his, your lips finally connecting in a heated kiss. His hands immediately went to your hips, squeezing them in his hands and bringing you close to him. Everything happened in a blur, one second you were making out and the next you were laying on top of the big wooden table, your panties around your ankle and his head between your thighs, and damn, he was good.

“You sure you wanna keep going?”, you nodded, completely out of breath as he looked for his pants. “Condom?”, you asked him just as he took it out of his wallet, and he smiled at you even as he sat down on the president’s chair, putting on the condom and pumping himself. “Come take a ride, sweetheart”, his voice was like pure honey and you didn’t waist time, situating your legs on both sides of his hips before slowly starting to slide down onto him. Your mouth hung open as he filled you, and his hands returned to your hips, squeezing them to take him mind off the fact that he just wanted to fuck you senseless. You let out a high-pitched whine when he bottomed out, his balls pressing against your ass as he only had shoved his pants down enough to take out his dick. A smack to your right cheek brought you back to reality, “Move, cariño”, he said, his lips ghosting over your neck. You obeyed immediately, “Yes, sir”, you didn’t mean to call him that, it just slipped… this man was made to give orders and you would gladly obey, especially if it meant fucking him on top of his president’s  chair.

Your hips bounced on top of him, and you kept going even when your thighs started to ache from the strain: you were determined to cum, and between how good he felt inside you, his groans and moans, you knew it would not take long. One of his hands reached up and grabbed the side of your face, kissing you again before making a trail down your neck, your chest, and closing his lips around one of your exposed nipples. The sensation made you moan and clench around him, your hands now on his shoulder for leverage.

“Get on the table”, he spoke, biting gently on the skin of your breast, and you did as he told you. Spreading your legs wide with his hands, he spit directly onto your lips, spreading the moisture with the tip of his cock, before filling you up again and rolling his hips against yours. “Fuck, just like that”, you closed your eyes as one of your hands went to fondle your breasts, and he smirked. “Am I gonna make you cum?”, you nodded frantically as your moans got louder with every pump of his hips against yours. “Yes, please, please”, you mewled, and he slowed down, making you whine in protest. “Please what?”, he taunted, his eyes switching between your face and his dick disappearing inside you. “Please sir, please make me cum”, you shamelessly begged, your bruised hips rising up to meet his thrusts and your hand reaching your clit, touching yourself. “Así, tócate, touch yourself, cum all over my cock, nena”, his hands gripped your hips as he started to fuck you with wild abandon, not even bothering to try and keep quiet, both your moans echoing in the room.

When you reached your orgasm, it was like a hot flash, your eyes watered from the pleasure and you arched your back. Your pussy pulsated as it milked his dick, his growl ceasing once he was finished, taking a moment to breathe again. when he slid out of you, you let out a sight, you were sure his cock had you addicted and all you could think about was another round. Silence fell over you two as he tied the condom and zipped his pants back up; you had gotten down from the table, fixed your dress and your panties were back in their place.

“I should go”, you stated. “Don’t you wanna stay for the party?”, you chuckled and he smiled. “It’s okay, I already had as much fun as I could”, he smiled and opened the door of Templo for you. He watched as you made your way through the bodies cramped up in the small room, looking at him over your shoulder one last time before disappearing outside.

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[alwayseattherude21fanfic]

Can I ask for a Mayan request? Can you do one where the girl is Miguel’s younger sister and like her relationships with everyone on the show?? It would be awesome if she was dating Nestor to. Thanks!

A.N:So, this one is going to be a two-parter because it got away from me lol. This first half will be focused on the MC, the next will be from the Cartel side. The second part should be posted sometime early next week, as I have a few Coco and Angel prompts coming up. I’ve also cut out some MC members, as I don’t think they would have had much interaction with such a character; Taza, Tranq, Creeper, Gilly. All that said, I really hope you enjoy this little slice, look forward to the next part, and as always, have a request? Drop it in! 

                                                                                                 FACE VALUE 

                                                        PART ONE

BISHOP

Bishop is… Weary. You know that saying? All that glitters is not gold? Yeah, he’s a big believer of that one. And, hearing of Galindo’s sister, a young woman who, according to the grape vine, is a prominent charity fundraiser, volunteers at local hospices and does outreach work in underprivileged neighborhoods, those alarm bells are ringing. 

On the few occasions they meet, he takes to questioning her subtly. He asks her how work is going, if it was the hospice up on fifth that she worked at, even though he knew it was on forth, just to see if he can catch her out. He never does. She smiles, flashing dimples, and is always cheerfully polite. To be honest, it pisses him off. 

Badly.

No one, and he sincerely meant no one, was spotless. Especially if they had Galindo blood. Still, he isn’t outrightly hostile, he isn’t about to risk his and the MC’s relationship to the Galindo cartel because he can’t keep his mouth shut or paint on a smile when needed, and neither does he take his doubts further than the odd question to see if her answer matches the Intel he has.

He knows how to play the great game.

Bishop is the type of man who likes knowing. And he doesn’t take anything at face value. It’s what’s kept his MC above water, and he himself as a dangerous president. He didn’t get, and most importantly, keep that position by not being an inch on the suspicious side. So, meeting this little sister, who for all the world looks like she is heading towards sainthood, and watching the way Miguel seems to look towards her, care for her, plain for all to see, you can bet Bishop is going to do a little digging, weighing up what exactly this means for him and his crew. 

If she might be a… Problem. 

He comes up with nothing but more sickeningly good deeds. Open craft nights for orphans. Funding rescue homes. Food shelters for the homeless. Fuck, the girl is in medical school, learning to become a doctor, where, from what he’s heard, she plans to volunteer in poor districts. Either she really is this spotless, and if so, damn, the world needs more people like her in it, or she’s so good at hiding her own shit that even he can’t smell it… And that is something he can respect. 

Even admire. 

RIZ

Riz is fond. He met her once, down in the brothel by the border, where she was doing some outreach work with the women there. At the time, he did not know it was that Galindo, and when he did find out when one of the women told him after the girl had left, he was surprised. More than surprised.

A Galindo? Are you sure? Really? 

Nevertheless, he watched the way she was respectful to the working girls. She didn’t judge them. She wasn’t snooty or condescending. She really just wanted to help. He could tell. 

She offered out free protection, gave out numbers for local shelters should the girls need it, counselling for any abuse if they wished to take it, and went as far as giving out her own number should any of them wish or need to simply talk to an open ear without condemnation or judgement. 

From then on, he liked her. 

It wasn’t often anyone cared about the little man, not unless the little guy could do something for them, and as an underdog himself, from less than stellar beginnings, Riz appreciated the work she was trying to do for those just like him when he was younger. 

Most importantly, she didn’t make it feel like charity work. There was no photo’s splattered about the place, on the front of newspapers, taken of her sitting with kids less fortunate than her, only to get back up, walk away and not look back. She didn’t boast about the work she did, in fact, most of it, especially her involvement, was kept under the table. 

She wasn’t afraid to go out into the field herself, rather than just simply pumping money out and getting a grunt to do the leg work, and, seemingly, enjoyed that most. It’s where she thrived, in the thick of it, meeting new people from all different walks of life, and she did, honestly, seem invested in each and every person she met. 

And that was something he could respect even more. 

She had a big smile, and an even bigger heart. So, one day, when she returned to the brothel to catch up with the ladies, if there was a bouquet of roses waiting for her with a simple note saying ‘thanks’, it was the least Riz could do to show her that at least one person appreciated her efforts. 

EZ

Ez feels… Conflicted. To him, the Galindo’s are what is wrong with the world. Cutthroat. Duplicitous. Bloody. You don’t get in a Galindo’s way, unless you want to get dead. 

He’s formed a sort of picture in his mind. Perhaps over exaggerated in some aspects, grossly under exaggerated in others, this is a cartel family after all, and it’s very hard, especially for Ez, to move away from that picture. 

But she breaks that picture mercilessly. 

She’s exactly everything opposite to what he expects a Galindo to be. Kind. Caring. Perhaps a bit overly cheerful. And he can’t add the name, Galindo, to her face. It just doesn’t fit. 

Maybe it’s a bit of jealousy, her brother is married to his ex, an ex he still has strong feelings for, and by association, she’s guilty too in the beginning. However, with each time they meet, running into each other, the more Ez realizes she’s not her brother, and the more conflicted he becomes.

He doesn’t want to like her, but he does.  

Fuck, he does.

He’s passing over info about the Galindo’s to the feds, it’s his ticket to freedom, and that includes Miguel’s sister, anything at all the feds can use against the cartel leader, and a sister was prime real-estate in that battle, and, with each passing over, guilt begins to gnaw at him. 

Because he knows, when the time comes, the feds will use everything he has told them, including things about her, against Miguel. And she doesn’t deserve to be dragged into the vicious dog fight about to be unleashed. 

He doubts she would survive it. 

He hopes she proves him wrong. 

ANGEL 

Angel likes her, and that’s the problem. She’s a Galindo, and Angel, well, he had set himself squarely in the Los Olvidados camp. Unlike Ez, though, there is no guilt in the beginning. 

It’s just business. 

In the world they lived in, you either stepped on a few toes, or you had your own toes stepped on. Angel liked his shoes just how they were, thank you. It was nothing personal. 

The thing is, that sort of mentality was easier said than done. When you begin to get to know someone personally, that tends to start blurring the whole ‘business is business’ excuse. 

Angel didn’t like that. 

He didn’t like the way she was easy to get along with. He didn’t like the way she shared the same sort of humour as him. Dark, unexpectedly so for someone so fucking preppy, sardonic and bitter. Like black coffee. He didn’t like how she asked personal shit, like asking after how he was doing, if he was alright, and expected nothing in return. She really just cared. He wasn’t used to that. He was the older brother. He was the one to check up, not be checked up on. He liked none of it. 

Because it fucked up his whole ‘nothing personal’ rationalization. 

So, he starts distancing himself. When they cross paths, he walks by, acting as if he hasn’t seen her, seen her smile at him in greeting, growing confused as he ducks his head down and slinks off. When she waits in the car out in the scrapyard, when Miguel is down and in the temple checking off points with Bishop, he turns his back and pretends he doesn’t hear his name being called, only to go ignored. 

Again, nothing personal. It was just what had to be done. He had already started backing Adelita, and, at the time, thinking she was going to take down the cartel, Miguel’s sister included, Galindo’s appeared to come in a package deal, it seemed the best course of action. 

Yet, he feels like shit for it. 

Angel’s not used to being rude, unfriendly or even unsociable. Especially to someone so... Kind, It never sat right with him. So, when he learns Adelita’s plans were never one of obliteration, but of getting into bed with the Galindo’s, he feels fucking stupid. Real stupid. 

He feels even worse when, after spotting her in the car waiting out front of the temple for Miguel to finish, he greeted her, the first time in months, and she acted as if nothing was amiss, as if he hadn’t been treating her like a leper for the last six months. 

In fact, her first words were asking how he was doing, and fuck, she was a good kid. Better than most. Still, Angel doesn’t apologize. He can’t. If he apologizes, he recognizes he had changed towards her, and if he recognizes that, then he has to recognize the reason, and he doesn’t need anyone, especially a Galindo, no matter how nice they are, analyzing his shifting moods. 

Yet, he apologizes without words.  A strawberry frappe, those frilly drinks that don’t really belong in a coffee house, her favourite, is always waiting for her when the Galindo car pulls up to the MC. There’s always an extra slice of cheesecake left in the garage fridge for her. And there is, now, a bowl on the side of the bar, filled with her favourite chili chocolates. 

The kid has a sweet-tooth a mile long. 

COCO

Coco is distrustful. He’s met plenty of people like her before. Social workers who came milling about when he was a kid, promising to protect, help,only to finish their paper work and move on to the next sorry case. 

That’s all they were, kids, people like him, numbers and statistics, bad stains on societies face that needed to be fixed. Quickly. They pretend they care, they pretend they want to help, but they don’t. Not really. They just want to finish their work quota, file away the day and get home. 

When they get to their bed, they could tell themselves they did something good today and sleep tight. Lies. All of it lies. Pretty, but false. The truth was that alcoholic dad they were giving anger management lessons to would still hit his kids, only in places people couldn’t see now. That druggy mother they had put in rehab? Yeah, she was back on the street scoring by the end of the week, leaving her kids at home, hungry and scared. That prostitute they had gotten to swear not to work the corner again? She was back to hopping men for cash within the hour. 

He knew that one personally.

Call him cynical. He just knew how people worked when they weren’t being watched. 

At first, he thinks she’s just another cog in the machine. The pretty face to the ugly truth of the Galindo cartel, something her brother uses to hide behind. A come look at me, look how good we are, how could we be conducting illegal drug rings, sort of deal. 

And then one night, on the ride home, he sees her down an alley way. It’s the type of alley no local would go down. Filled with trash, blankets where the homeless crash when the nights get chilly, where shady drug deals go down. Coco doesn’t know why he stops, but he does. 

He didn’t recognize her at first, having only saw her in brief passing before. No. That night, he simply see’s a woman crouching down in the dark, hunched. He parked up at the side of the road, still not really knowing what he was doing, why he was doing it, but there he was, getting off his bike, walking over. 

Call it his good deed of the year. 

Imagine his surprise when, through the flicker of the street light, he finally got a glimpse of her face and realised who it was. Now, imagine that surprise going tenfold when he saw her, crouched there, talking away to some woman, obviously down on her luck, black eye and all, and, upon seeing the woman’s bare feet, socks holey and damp, she sat right down in the middle of that alley way, plucked her own boots right off, and handed them over without so much as a blink. 

The woman took them, after some urging, and as bright as a sunbeam, she gave her some money, all she had in her wallet, told her were the local shelter was, and as if she was strolling off to Disneyland, stood up and started walking down the street, sans shoes. 

Coco followed her. 

He didn’t know why until he catches up. He tells her to come back, he has a bike, that she shouldn’t walk around, barefoot, at night, in this sort of place. She says thank you. That it was really kind of him. He didn’t need to go out of his way for her. She’ll pay him for the gas when she gets home and gets her bank card. Coco waves her off.

This girl was something else. 

When he pulls up to the place she told him to drop her off, he realizes it’s the hospice she volunteers at, that she has a night-shift she’s planning to take… Barefoot. Coco doesn’t say anything. She smiles at him, wishes him a good night, and she’s off, full of endless energy and smiles. 

However, come morning, by the time she has to leave to head home, there is a pair of new boots waiting for her at the front desk, new tags still hanging on the zip. Kindness deserved to be rewarded, even just a little. Perhaps, Coco thought, there really was people out there who were kind. Who really did care. For once, Coco felt hope. 

A pair of boots seemed a good price to feel that way again. 

[tessatechaitea]

Justice Society of America #8

Oh no! Hate! It must be stopped!

That caption sounded sarcastic, didn't it? It sort of sounds like a centrist arguing against somebody saying something that nobody should be on the other side of. "Of course Black Lives Matter! Nobody is saying they don't! Why even bother bringing it up?! You're just causing trouble!" is the kind of thing that has made me hate people who identify as "non-political" or "centrist" or "libertarian" or "Proud Husband. Father. Christian." Nobody needs to hear from you if the only thing you have to say is that nobody needs to be fighting for the things they need to be fighting for! "If it's already a crime, why do we need more stringent laws for punishing crimes motivated by hate. Aren't all criminal acts hateful?" says the person ignoring reality for their own selfish interests of which I can't even begin to guess. Enough about people who have chosen to be non-people. Let's discuss a comic book from 1993 that probably takes a stronger stance against fascism than a frightening large number of Americans today.

This advert on the inside front cover would be better if the picture over "very rare" was a cow. I mean, it wouldn't work for baseball cards but I would like it better.

I think the best part about actually living in a world where superheroes are real is that day in 5th Grade when Hawkman and Hawkwoman visit your class to talk about Egyptian archaeology. The issue begins by catching up with Hawkman and Hawkwoman as they continue their quest to steal Egyptian cultural artifacts. You have to give them a pass on this though! In 1993, people just believed archaeology was a thrilling way to bring treasures into museums for everybody to share! It's not like we had hundreds of years to reflect on how terrible this practice was. You have to do some cultural math by subtracting the number of years Western culture believed whatever it did was right and just from, I don't, negative 100? Do you think we'll have learned some humbleness and respect in one hundred years? Most kids who grew up in the 70s wanted to be boring ass truck drivers but by the 80s, thanks to Indiana Jones, they wanted to be boring ass archaeologists. Kids aren't the greatest at determining what a fun adult job might be. Did you know there are people who get angry at the supposition that digging up and taking cultural artifacts and treasures from other countries to bring back to your own might be theft? Generally they're the same type of people who believe that all advances to civilization were brought about by white culture. They hold this opinion through absolutely no evidence at all. How do I know they don't have any evidence? Because if they looked for evidence, they'd wind up reading history and realize their claim was too ludicrous to continue defending.

You might think Hawkgirl is commenting on the gigantic sarcophagus the native archaeologists are opening but I know she's making an innuendo about Hawkman's cock because she's doing that thing with her hat where she lifts it up and down and waggles her eyebrows.

It's not really much of a joke though because nobody expects Hawkman's penis to be as large as a fifty foot long sarcophagus. I mean, I'm sure it's big but it's not going to be unwieldy! It's probably almost exactly the same size and shape as his mace. Interlude: here are some Facebook posts I made on several different July 26thes because I guess I think of it as a holiday to entertain my future self every July 26th? Whatever the case, I love Past Me more than Future Me and possibly even more than Present Me. Because of the Hays Code, Alfred Fatcock had to change his name to keep making films. How patriotic would you consider a person who got a flag pregnant? War Games is my favorite movie because it taught me that trying is pointless. The first item on my bucket list is to buy a bucket. End of Interlude. Can you tell I'm stalling because maybe eight issues of this comic book was too much? Here's an adult riddle: What's twenty-five feet long, wrapped in bandages, and has an eye in the middle of its head?

This guy's penis!

I don't recognize the guy with three eyes but I'm sure he's some immortal wizard named Amn Thoth or something. While the Carters discover ancient mummy curses, Johnny Quick tries to convince Rex that his hour of strength doesn't come from a drug at all but deep inside him. He doesn't need to pop pills to be a superhero; he just needs to balance his chakras and figure out his mantra. Then he'll tap into some deep spiritual part of himself that is probably just a meta(l)gene and whammo! Hourman is back and straight edge! But Rex doesn't buy it. Especially since learning his mantra isn't going to cure his son's cancer (which he got from taking Miraclo). Also in the hospital is Wesley Dodd who is doing therapy to recover from his stroke. Plus his friend Bishop Tumutuu who was some guy who fought against Apartheid. And because the Bishop is in the hospital, the white supremacists are gathering outside to not wish him well.

Shouldn't they hear what they have to say and debate them to better strengthen their own side of the argument on why all people should have equal opportunity with all rights and freedoms promised by this country?

I'm absolutely for freedom of all speech. But the problem that the American media and a lot of people on the Internet have fallen into is the idea that all speech needs to be discussed and debated equally. That's the whole "freedom of speech" trap. Whenever somebody on Twitter wants to debate some terrible topic that nearly all kind and forward thinking people realize is a monstrous and terrible idea and you simply mock them for their terrible beliefs or tell them to shut up, they think you're clamping down on their free speech. No, sir. You were able to say the stupid thing you wanted to say. What you actually want is for a Constitutional Amendment that forces me tor respect what you said and debate it as if the matter has yet to be resolved. The media does this all the time by allowing both sides of an opinion to debate which only legitimizes the side with the terrible take. Sure, we should allow racists to go on CNN and declare their stance on race relations. But the people on the other side shouldn't be debating that topic with them. They should just laugh at them and point and tell them how terrible they are. Maybe get some of that slime from You Can't Do That on Television for rebuttals. Freedom of speech needs way more mockery and far less debate if it's going to recover. Hourman responds to the white supremacists with a "None of my business!" because he's a terrible centrist who believes that if the status quo isn't making his life rough, why rock the boat? Also his son is dying of cancer so maybe he's a bit distracted. I shouldn't be so hard on him when he's wracked with the guilt of probably killing his son with his drugs. The white supremacists begin making trouble so it's time for the JSA to put an end to hate! Or will hate win out? I mean, this comic book was written in 1993 and I don't feel like hate has backed down.

Sure, he's against metahumans now. But just wait until one of them decides to wear on of those stupid hats and silly robes!

Watching the speedsters begin to get pummeled by the huge mass of white supremacists, Hourman accidentally balances his chakras! He's suddenly powerful without the drugs or the black lights or the Doctor Fate deep muscle massages! Now if he can convince his son that the power of Miraclo has been inside him all along, his son will have the strength to battle the cancer! Why did I use an exclamation point on that previous sentence when I don't really fucking care about Rex Tyler and his son! Hourman crashes out of the hospital window to save Johnny Quick. He lets Jesse do her own thing because he's heard about women's lib and also she's not an old man whose powers have significantly dwindled over time.

My adrenal gland just got bigger too!

In the end, the Bishop is saved and even Wesley Dodd joins the fight! Or he just absentmindedly shot off his sandman gun and coincidentally put the Bishop's assassin to sleep. It's hard to tell since he's still suffering from his retirement party stroke. The issue ends with Green Lantern surfing the television when he comes upon Carter Hall's interview program where he's interviewing the mummy they dug up, a man named Edmund Kulak. Since Green Lantern recognizes him, I guess he's one of the JSA's foes. According to the Who's Who, Kulak can use his third eye to cause everybody on Earth to hate each other. I guess that's why the white supremacists were acting up (and also wearing eyes on their hats and robes). Having a magical reason for racism is always a better comic book story than acknowledging a lot of people are racist of their own free will. Imagine all the angry letters that the pre-Comicsgate generation would have had to write in! "I'm not racist but I don't think you should portray all white people as racist because that is racist! Logic for the win!" That might seem like I created a 1993 Strawman but have you read the letters reacting to the Tales of the Teen Titans Spotlight on Starfire about Apartheid? My pretend letter was practically verbatim of one or two of the letters Mike Gold had to respond to on that series! Justice Society of America #8 Rating: B-. I think I've read enough old stories about old people fighting immortals. The whole mortality angle is really bringing me down!

[stone-man-warrior]

January 27, 2021: 11:31 am:

===================================================

This post is a very challenging one to make:

1st try:

the bastards are deleting my screenshots from my computer, I cannot show you the ones that explain how the power was being shut off, twice as I tried to post this information.

2nd try:

The other part of the second try:

Power came back on again at 11:29 am.

The bastards watched me do research from their Centurylink terror HQ.

They saw that I was interested in that 1966 Disneyland Souvenir Map, the one that features the Space Mountain Attraction at the park, and is on the map, but was not actually there until 1977 according to online records, my recollection is that the Space Mountain Attraction was not completed and available to ride until the late 1980′s.

So, if you survived a visit to Disneyland in the 1960′s, and purchased one of those souvenir maps, then you wandered around the Disneyland Theme Park looking for Space Mountain because it was on the map, but no one ever saw the Space Mountain Attraction until about 20 years after it was put on the Disneyland map.

We could talk about just that little bit of Disney terror for a couple of days, and still not cover everything there is to know about the Space Mountain Attraction, why it was on a map, or why it was not actually present.

However, in absence of anyone who is interested in BIG TERROR enough to interview me about that, or other eye-witness Disney terror that is also documented on this Tumblr account, I just want to point out what I started to point out earlier when Pac Pow and Centurylink shut me down.

That is, that the source of Time Warp Terror happening on Twitter, can be traced to where it has happened in the past, two places are Chrysler, and Disneyland Buena Park.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Space_Mountain_(Magic_Kingdom)

At that Wikipedia page there is a lot of special wording specifically crafted to make confusion about the actual opening date, and about the construction of the Space Mountain Attraction.

Attraction.

Attraction.

Attraction.

It’s on the map in 1966. Is an attraction. Every kid there has a Disney map and is looking for the thing that is attracting them to ride the Space Mountain Ride Attraction.

Capture the children, train them as terror soldiers, use them as sex slaves, make “partner surgical experimental pet people” from the strongest of “Specimens”, and blame the parents for the disappearance of the children at the theme park.

That is the direction of research that is necessary when studying Disney.

I have seen the result of the “Partners” while at the Disney Buena Park location.

They kidnapped my children at the Disney theme park, I had to chase after the people who stole my children there. There is a access door within the Gettysburg Address Abraham Lincoln attraction on Mainstreet USA at Disney Buena Park. That door leads to where Micheal Eisner’s office is at, and there are Partner victims in there to serve his desires.

=================================

1:30 pm:

https://twitter.com/BorisJohnson/status/1354505365250068483

This and some other Tweets from the Johnson Twitter account and others referencing discussion between Boris Johnson and Joe Biden is the source of many attacks at my home. Today’s double whammy power outage was one of the things that these Tweets ordered to happen through Twitter used as a medium for saying terror command murder hit orders.

Climate Leadership is about “new Clear Weapons”, nitrous oxide, medazolam, other “boutique” custom airborne gasses. There are gasses that produce a wide variety of symptoms when exposed to them, one of them causes instant super powerful laxative symptoms, “holy shit gas?”... I don’t know what they call that one. There is a “boutique” “new clear weapon” called “Sewer Gas”, that one makes the same symptoms as Sea Sickness, nausea, vertigo, head ache, light sensitivity, other sea sickness symptoms, but without the vomiting, lasts about four hours. The “new clear weapons” give an attacker an advantage, while rendering the victims unable to defend themselves. The gasses also produce long term symptoms such as the rash I have on my shin, is very painful, comes with swelling of the leg, and internal burning sensation that is frightening, makes the victim go to a doctor, where they are exterminated in a highly controlled environment.

net zero = internet hero = someone who is trying to say details of Britain/SAG terrorism and mass murder.

2050 = “two-piece” = cut someone in two parts = remove head = cut in two at the waist... any “two-piece” human condition made possible with a blade or wire snare, or other means to make a cut.

“protect 30% of land and ocean by 2030″:

Three miles out off shore is International Waters.

There are two shores in the sentence, water is between.

The “0″ is the water for this one.

It’s symbolic of: “Protect the international terror army who are pirates, and who kill everyone”, is a reasonable translation in English.

Johnson says he wants to meet Biden at my house with the part about “I look forward...”

So, those are two opposing terror army’s who are in alliance, made an agreement that both of the opposing armies share a common interest, and that is to kill me, because I keep fouling up their terror mass murdering that they are doing, and are actually both terror army’s are in competition with one another for Global Domination.

Boris Johnson is secretly part of the Donald Trump/Pope Benedict Vatican/SAG/Canadian/Britain terror army, while Joe Biden is part of the Britain/SAG/Canadian/Pope Francis (Bergoglio) Vatican/Google terror army.

The main difference between the two army’s, is that the Johnson team is pro-Pope Benedict, a German Pope, while the Biden team is pro-Francis (Bergoglio/Google), a fake, Screen Actor Guild Pope.

The thing about Pope Francis and company, is they hijacked the Vatican, from Christian Pirates who have 2021 years of pirating experience of Christian Crusades terror... the real McCoy Christian Pirates.

Meanwhile, the real Christian Pirates don‘t want to spoil the front of Christianity that has been working so well for them for 2021 years so far, so, those guys are OK with learning about who are the idiots who are stepping on their toes. It could take some time, but eventually, the Joe Biden Screen Actor Guild variety of actors who think they only hijacked the Vatican, head Christians, but actually walked in on... ohhh... a den of Lions. so to speak... the Biden’s are all going to slowly disappear, while the Benedict teams clean things up nice and quiet, over time, is no big deal for them, they have been pirates for 2021 years.

My read of the bigger picture, includes that SAG was supposed to do some “contract work” for Britain, starting pretty much with assassination of JFK, and they did their jobs as they were supposed to do for many decades. Then, something changed at Screen Actor Guild HQ. They got greedy, they wanted more power, more control, maybe learned some secret details of the reasons why Britain hired them to command the Canadian terror army...

So, the SAG decided to create some circumstances on their own. The result seems to have been that Jorge Bergoglio, an actor from Aarrgentina, became Pope, and is a Screen Actor Guild member, is mostly Democrat, and he stepped in where Pope Benedict was at, in the lead guitar position on stage at the Vatican Choir playing a Gibson 1958 Flying V through a stack of Marshall Plexi’s, with ample selection of effect peddles for custom tonality at the Choir Show.

“Those pesky Screen Actor Guild members are going Rogue” said the head Benedict.

“What should we do, boss?” said the Cardinals and Bishops.

“We are going to give them enough rope, that they all hang themselves” said the head Benedict.

He went on to say: “That takes us off of the menu at the fish restaurant, we are just going to ride around on the coat tails of the SAG Rogue fools. That way, they will take the heat, for everything we are going to continue to do, as per usual, standard Crusade pirate work that we do for taking over the world”

And so it’s working out where the Christian Front that was once in control of the OG Original Gangster (Benedict) Christian Pirates, is now the front that is being controlled by the Bergoglio SAG team, who brought Google with them, so, the Benedict team likes that, they can access everything Google is doing the same way that the SAG Bergolio’s can. And, the Benedict team can do that, while being a Ghost Ship, where the Bergoglio SAG team cannot figure out why so many things go wrong so often for them, as the Benedict team just stays quiet, looking innocent, and fouling up the activity of the Bergoglio’s as needed, while keeping them out front, in the limelight.

Both teams were recently all exposed to one another.

The Bergoglio’s were not prepared for the reality that the Benedict team really are pirates, who have been mass murdering in the name of God for 2021 years. While the Benedict Team has always known exactly WT actual F is going on, the Bergoglio’s only thought it was a British thing, to do contract work of commanding the British terror army, that is Canada, for taking over USA, where they were promised a leading role at the end of the show.

The SAG got greedy, wanted the whole Chi-Wah-Wah.

now the Biden team (SAG) is seeing that Trump drained the Treasury and Reserve, again, and he is screwed, no money.

=============================

3:00 pm:

This is good time for any readers of this account, to “Step the Fuck Back”.

Have a look at the boat.

The explanation above, should explain who Donald Trump is, and why he was sent to take over at the White House.

One of the biggest problems everyone on earth faces with stepping back to have a look at the ship, is that we are seeing the news, as it appeared about in 2008.

Time Warp Terror.

So, we are all looking at this boat, maybe want to buy it, clean it up, make some repairs on the thing, a new mast, new rudder, put a nice wood steering wheel at the helm, the kind with finger gription, and re-do the upholstery, but, the add we are seeing is from an old newspaper classified.

That is the problem with buying the boat. All of the information about it, including it’s current location, is a mystery and may not be accurately depicting the condition of the boat as it looks today.

When Donald Trump landed that TV show called The Apprentice, that time there, within the SAG, was a preparatory time period for him to take the reigns, get into a position to right the Vatican Flying V pirate ship after Mutiny when SAG got greedy at some point.

The name of the show, “The Apprentice” is enough that all of the real pirates, non-SAG British ones, could lend a hand in their own ways without ever having to say a single word about anything they were up to.

So, what we need to also understand, is just as Donald Trump was there, in the world, was already in the kinds of powerful positions that he was in at the time of landing The Apprentice, there are other powerful people, today, in positions of leverage. They are British Knights, as is, or was, Donald Trump.

I was made to believe that Donald Trump exploded in a Bus at the Fred Meyer gas station along with Mark Kiesel of Kiesel Guitars and two or three other people on January 6 2021. The Bus exploded nearby the Josephine County Sheriff’s Office, best guess for the location it blew up is on Beacon Dr. at where the Department of Motor Vehicles is at across from Fred Meyer Department Store. It was a big explosion, but was out of view. I saw Mark Keisel and recognized him at the gas station getting into the bus. I heard the sound of Donald Trump’s voice from withing the Bus. I encountered other musicians that day at the Walgreen’s. I saw someone who looked like Paul Reed Smith at the Walgreen‘s, but, the man looked too old, otherwise was Paul Reed Smith, of PRS Guitars, who I already fought once while inside the jail on June 16, when he, Lars Ulrich, Zakk Wylde, and John Mayer all attacked me in the jail. Paul had rope, and was getting ready to tie it to the second floor railing, while Zakk and John each took a whack at me with a three bladed sword they call a “Trident”. Lars attacked later with the Trident. Those other three were all at once, when Zakk dropped the Trident, John picked it up. I was able to just turn the thing around without ever holding it myself. Same thing happened when Lars took a whack at me, I just did what I do, turned it around without ever holding it.

Paul may not have died that day as I thought he did.

The thing I remember the most about that day, is as those three guys were approaching me at the lunch tables, there was the tiniest little ant on the ground under where I was sitting, cruising for corn bread crumbs on the jail floor.

It was a “Blue Screen” event. Eight Sheriff deputies busted my door in on June 15, I was taken to the jail, arrested for something that never happened, so that I would be within that highly controlled environment for those SAG assassins to kill me the following day. It backfired, and I don‘t know why they allowed me to leave after all of that.

===

That is the condition of part of the boat.

It’s in bad shape.

Did Donald Trump explode with Kiesel? Or was his voice planted into the Bus for me and others to hear? I did not see him, I only heard his voice.

=================================================

5:41 pm:

https://www.chicagomusicexchange.com/collections/price-drops?utm_campaign=Used%2FVintage%20New%20Arrivals%20%2B%20Price%20Drops%20%2B%20Sell%2FTrade%20Bumper%2027012021%20%28Y5RfjA%29&utm_medium=email&utm_source=Klaviyo&_ke=eyJrbF9jb21wYW55X2lkIjogIlZLeWZ4WCIsICJrbF9lbWFpbCI6ICJzdG9uZS5tYW4ud2FycmlvckBnbWFpbC5jb20ifQ%3D%3D#/filter:ss_cleaned_tags_item_condition:Vintage/filter:ss_cleaned_tags_item_condition:Used

https://www.chicagomusicexchange.com/products/verellen-loucks-50-watt-tube-head-serial-948-used-707872

It’s a hit piece at Chicago Music Exchange.

The progression of screenshots there lead from email to my inbox, to CME, then have a look around, see some interesting items, then this thing, the Verellen 50 Watt Head, (#948).

It’s a one channel amp, has four volume knobs.

Two transformers, one of them is crooked.

There is a: “ Foot-switchable od boost drops additional gain for big distorted sounds (footswitch included)”

The foot-switch has a green light on it. That means the switch requires a battery. The battery is only necessary to power the green light.

(#948 makes this a personally threatening situation for me, I don’t want to say how or why)

It’s a fake amplifier. Costs $1,965, is a Dodge Power Wagon on it’s way to Disneyland Buena Park and is using a old map to get there:

This one. (do research at Eastwood Guitars “Map” model to learn more about connectivity)

https://www.chicagomusicexchange.com/products/national-newport-82-pepper-red-1960s-726679

Some things to consider include that CME has some of the coolest old music gear. The kind of music gear that elderly and disabled Medicare Part-D beneficiaries have in their closets from way back in the day.

YouTube personality Bonzoleum used to work at CME. I met him in California before, is interesting story, I am saving that one. He does drum lessons and other drum related sort of discussions on YouTube. One thing he does, is puts his wallet on his snare drum. He also makes sure everyone knows he is particularly fond of “Paiste 2002″ Cymbals, that translates to money basically. So, he is saying that he is the guy to talk to when the disabled and elderly people have some old vintage drums and cymbals when they are killed by the SAG assassins.

CME is the same as Bonzoleum, but they handle all kinds of disabled and elderly music gear when SAG assassins kill them.

That Verellon means they are after one particular piece of equipment at my house, and they know stuff about it that I don’t even know unless I go look real close at it.

https://www.chicagomusicexchange.com/products/tokai-flying-v-white-2008-lefty-1103082

The V guitar is pretty darn cool at less than $600. It’s a left handed flying V with only two control knobs, and that one features the very hard to find “stubby” head-stock.

The “Stubby” head-stock is lopsided when you look close.

All in all, that guitar says: “Things at the White House are backwards, upside down, and British”.

There are tigers there, but are the tigers are from “Whinnie the Pooh Hundred Acre Woods”, so, Eeyore (democrats) are in some kind of trouble, Piglet could be having some problems, there is probably a “honey shortage” there, there is only one “T-I-Double Ga-Er” at Hundred Acre Woods, so, in addition to other Twitter news about Super Bowl this week, you can know that Lady Gaga (SAG; Nancy Sinatra) is also having some problems, according to Chicago Music Exchange Promotional Email today. That, and Christopher Robin is said to be a singers vocal coach who lives in Hollywood, is common knowledge.

The main issue is at WH is about that Rabbit at Hundred Acre Woods, I forget what the name of the rabbit is.

https://www.chicagomusicexchange.com/products/vox-ac-30-super-twin-amp-set-1964-974268

That VOX AC 30 1964 is holy grail grade amplifier, and is in perfect condition for it’s age. It’s a British amp, why is the British Holy Grail Amp on the bargain table at the Seventh Day Adventist Church Yard Sale? (maybe this is representation of my former spouse, who never told me she was a terrorist bitch, had to find out the hard way).

(there is a Tweet somewhere on Twitter today that describes the situation, is from a high level of government leadership news, I cannot find it right now. It says something about: “Everything is on the table”. Maybe I can find it later.)

So, those parts are national, global, USA, Canada, Vatican (maybe the Flying V guitar speaks about Vatican, not White House, I say it speaks about both Vatican and White House, with some money in between, a “bargain” of sorts between WH and Vatican Bank being “a little short”.

There is more to see and decode at CME. I only showed the highlights.

================================

7:18 pm:

https://twitter.com/ABCNewsLive/status/1354588611929366530

https://twitter.com/ABC/status/1354627024132911109

I am too optimistic.

The two stories combined along with some other Twitter news seems to be really good news, it looks like the Canadian (Trudeau) terror bastards who took over Wall Street are down range, could be on the menu. I saw some other tweets about “Tags”, so that’s “Elmer Fudd at the NYSE” all licensed for some big game hunting, Mario Brothers are downrange, and Elmer has a Weatherby side-by-side breach barrel, Italia model, with gold hardware trim, engraved. Too Big To Fail may be just right for dinner.

That would be good. ================

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r9pra4PRug0

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KcGP0nXPQ70

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tMlKmELIhgY

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b4lT4Omk510

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KnyHxb_3nT4

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rG0Ws3YfONY

=======================================

8:49 pm:

https://twitter.com/NBCNews/status/1354647937821847553

That seems to say that even the Mormons are out of business, Romney won’t be King after all.

I am too optimistic.

We are doomed.

There are no helpful people anywhere around here, computer and phones are still hijacked, no help has come, Twitter is still tweeting, and I am still trying to reach Pittsburgh.

There is no response from anyone, ever, other than the assassins the government sends to kill me.

Today and yesterday the terror bastards are releasing some gas that makes symptoms of overwhelming desire to lay down and fall asleep. Is more powerful than nitrous oxide, is outside, comes into the house from use of the forced air heating, and the negative air pressure inside the house caused by the return air vent draws in the gas through crack around the weatherstripping, and chimney, and other small holes.

See recent Twitter news at major network, State Department, and especially from press secretary @jrpsaki about “Climate Change” and one particular tweet I am looking for yesterday that said something about “we have some new, more powerful tools” or similar statement somewhere at a leading network or government office at Twitter, for possible talk of use of stronger, anesthetic gasses for attack on Jackpine.

The new press secretary looks remarkably similar to Rena Myers formerly of 560 Jackpine dr. Daughter of Juseph Myers. I would give the same description for both of them.

[momscookingthebooks]

Chapter Reveal

Title: Payback

Series: Vigilante Justice #1

Author: Kristin Harte

Publication Date: January 25, 2018

#ChapterReveal #Payback #NewRelease #VigilanteJustice #KristinHarte 

Add to Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/36549869-payback

Synopsis:

In Justice, Colorado, the Kennards run everything, including the only big business in the area. Their sawmill employs most of the town, and the Kennard brothers live up to a long family history of keeping their neighbors and coworkers safe—until a motorcycle club comes to town and starts causing trouble. Big trouble. The kind that ends in funerals. The kind no law enforcement can help them with.  He carries the burden of protecting an entire town Being the oldest Kennard brother, I’ve got a centuries-old promise to uphold—run the family business to give the townspeople jobs and the sort of security they can only find in Justice. When a motorcycle club blows that plan apart, I’ll do anything to make them aware that they picked the wrong town to target. As a former Green Beret, I know just how to sabotage an enemy. The only weakness in my armor is my obsession with a five-foot-nothing blonde who unknowingly holds my heart in her hands. My attraction to her could cost me my life, but I’d sacrifice it all to save hers.  She owes a debt that could cost her life I’ve spent three years hiding out in Justice and paying off a debt to the Soul Suckers, one they’ve decided to collect whether I’m ready to pay or not. When danger lands on my doorstep, one man jumps in to help. Alder Kennard—former Special Forces soldier and current object of all my fantasies. But the Soul Suckers won’t let a debt go unpaid, and with the price on my head rising every day, it’s only a matter of time until they come back for me. Alder would put his life on the line to save mine, which is something I simply can’t afford.  Everyone has a debt to pay, and the only currency I have left is my body. So when the time comes, I’ll trade my life for his.

Purchase Links:

iBooks: smarturl.it/PaybackKH

Amazon: smarturl.it/PaybackKHarte

Kobo: http://bit.ly/2Dtul6N

Nook: http://bit.ly/2mXwvjK 

Chapter 1

“We’ve got a problem, boss.”

If I hadn’t already been in a foul mood, those words would have gotten me there.

“What is it now?”

“Motorcycle gang up on Widow’s Ridge.” Camden Reese—born and bred in Justice, friend of my youngest brothers, and former Marine sergeant—launched into a speech about his team running into some bikers up by the Hansen property. We’d recently signed a contract with Miss Hansen to harvest eighty acres of dead Ponderosa pine on that hill, so anything getting in our way was definitely a problem. A big one.

As Camden laid out the events of the altercation, I checked over the satellite images of the area on my desk, making notes and marking locations. A star on the house to the west where the elderly Miss Hansen still lived, another to the east on the patch of earth where a trailer sat, all alone. The only two residences up that long, rough stretch of road leading to a drop-off on the far west side.

That rocky piece of land sat just outside the city limits, so things like road maintenance were all but forgotten unless the two residents brought them to my attention. No biker would intentionally ride up such a rutted, gravel road without a reason—too hard on their bike and their face if they were trailing someone else.

“He tried to call out Finn, but I squashed that shit,” Camden said, securing every bit of my attention for the moment. Finn—my second youngest brother, one of a set of twins, and the only Kennard ever to spend time in prison. He was also a recovering addict, and I had vowed to my dad that I’d keep him in recovery and not let him backslide. That had been ten years ago, and I still worried about keeping that vow every fucking day.

“What the fuck was Finn doing on a job?” My brother didn’t work for me except for the occasional project, and I knew for a fact he hadn’t been assigned to the Hansen job.

“He’d driven with me to check in on Miss Hansen. We never made it out there, though, because we ran into the bikers on the way up. One guy said some shit about Finn’s drug days, how they missed him over at the strip club in Rock Falls.”

Jesus. “You get a name?”

“Patch on his vest said Spark.”

“Spark.” I sat back, balancing my chair on two legs. “As in plug?”

Camden blinked, a cocky smile breaking across his face. “Yeah, like plug. I didn’t see the other guy’s name.”

“So Spark knows Finn from what…ten, twelve years ago? He look familiar to you?”

Cam shook his head. “Never seen him in town.”

That caught my attention. Justice was a small town planted squarely between two slightly larger towns, all in the middle of fucking nowhere. People didn’t happen into Justice—they came here for a reason.

And if that reason was named Finn Kennard, Spark and his friend needed to be dealt with and quick. “How’d my brother handle the run-in?”

“Finn ignored the bullshit from Spark. I wasn’t as restrained.”

Not surprising. Cam always did have a bit of a temper. “If the sheriff gets called again on you—”

Camden waved me off. “I knocked his legs out from under him and put him on the ground.

Didn’t even leave a mark, I don’t think. But I made my point.”

“And what point was that?” Not that I needed to ask.

“That Kennard Mills would be harvesting the lumber on that side of the hill, and their club had better not have any business up there. They drove off after Spark picked himself up out of the dirt, the other guy saying something about bigger fish.” Camden frowned. “I recognized the other guy.”

“Local?” I couldn’t think of anyone in Justice who rode with an MC, but I might have missed someone. Three hundred plus people were a lot to keep track of.

“No. He came into the truck stop one night when Leah and I were there for dinner.” He blew out a breath and shifted his weight. An almost unconscious gesture, but one that stood out. Normally almost confident to a fault, Cam suddenly seemed nervous, which meant I wouldn’t like what he had to say.

“Yeah?” I prodded, wondering how a night out with his wife would piss me off.

“Leah noticed something was up when she went to the restroom and came to get me. The asshole had Shye cornered in a back hallway and wasn’t letting her pass.”

The snap of the pencil I’d been holding breaking in two might as well have been a gunshot. “And you let him walk away?”

“I had Leah and Shye looking on. I had to.”

Picturing perfect little Shye—at least ten years my junior and so damn sweet, every one of her smiles would give you a toothache—watching as I kicked the shit of some asshole was about as unappealing as a thought could get. I probably would’ve wanted to do the same as Camden and let the guy walk with a warning if I’d been there. I wouldn’t have, but I’d have wanted to.

Because I wanted her, and the idea of Shye being scared of me made my gut sink like a rock. I needed to stop thinking about Shye Anderson. An impossibility as of late, which directly correlated to why my mood had been so foul all day.

I sighed, rubbing my forehead and sitting deeper into my chair, bringing all four legs back to the floor. “All right. So they rode off after you knocked Spark to the ground. Any indication they’d keep hassling you or come back for Finn?”

He shrugged. “Not really, though you never know with these types of guys.”

Lawless, clan-like, arrogant. Yeah. You never knew a damn thing with them. “Did you recognize the club logo?”

“Definitely the Soul Suckers.”

Of course. I’d heard they’d added a clubhouse not too far over the county line to the west. I probably wouldn’t have thought twice if I’d seen their bikes on the highway through town or heading toward the new restaurant on Main Street. I would now, though.

“Might be time to set the club straight on what they can and can’t do as they ride through Justice. I’ll talk to Deacon, see if he knows anyone. Head back to the ridge, and get the Hansen site plot worked out so we can start cruising and marking trees. This might be our last big harvest before the rains come, and I want to take advantage of the summer weather while we have it.”

“We’ll get it done.”

“Good. And if you see Bishop on the mill floor, have him call me.”

Camden nodded, then left without another word, leaving me to stew over this new mess.

Fucking messes all over the place lately, it seemed.  

I looked over my satellite images again, tracing roads and logging paths I’d known my whole life. Acres of Widow’s Ridge pine forest stared back at me, a mottled brown and green landscape. Half the trees stood dead or dying, a sign of the mountain beetle infestation that had nearly bankrupted my late father and destroyed Kennard Mills. But the bug that had nearly killed us had instead left us flush with jobs and cash. The droughts hadn’t stopped this mill, the industry collapse hadn’t either, and the fucking plague of beetles killing the forests around us had actually been a boon instead of a death knell. Everyone in Justice had enjoyed the bonuses beating our sales plans every month brought, and no fucking bikers would make us end that streak. I had a town to employ.

But Justice, Colorado was more than a town to me—it was my responsibility.

The place my ancestors had set down roots. Where they tended to each and every resident over the years, giving families time to grow good, strong roots. Kennard men had run Justice like a homestead for nearly two centuries with the mill as the central business fueling everything else, and I’d live up to the legacy set before me as the oldest living Kennard. That meant making sure people had jobs, food, shelter, and that they felt safe.

Another thing bikers wouldn’t be taking away from us, even though it seemed as if they were trying just that.

An annoying, robotic song interrupted my thoughts. The words “Bishop Kennard”—name of my closest brother who also happened to be my VP of sales and marketing—flashed on the screen of my phone as it played that stupid song again. I swiped to answer and brought the device to my ear.

“Bishop.”

“Camden said you wanted me,” he said, not bothering with a greeting.

“We’ve got trouble on Widow’s Ridge.”

“I heard. Finn all right?” Because, as the second oldest Kennard brother, our family would be the first thing on Bishop’s mind. As it should be.

“Camden thinks so. Let’s run by the bar tonight and be sure, though. And I’ll need you to check in on Miss Hansen—make sure she’s okay out there.”

“Sounds good. I’ll call as soon as we hang up. Anything else?”

“Sell some fucking lumber, Bishop.”

“On it, boss. I’ll be ready to go at six.”

I tossed the phone back onto my desk, the maps snagging my attention again.

One spot in particular, actually, and not the one belonging to Miss Hansen. I ran a finger over the east side of the hill, circling the little trailer on a barren, flat piece of rock. Just outside the city limits, it technically sat beyond my protective net, but Shye Anderson lived in that trailer. New girl in town at only three years since she moved to the area, waitress at the truck stop over in Rock Falls, and the only woman I’d ever met who could drive me mad with frustration and desire all at once.

I’d been ultra-aware of Shye since I first met her. Slightly obsessed, really. The girl captivated me; stole all my attention with her sweet little smile and never let me go. It didn’t hurt that she looked like a damn angel—long, blond hair and big, dark eyes, a tiny little body that I wanted to get my hands on more than anything else. Sweet as honey, that one, but she lived up to her name. She blushed and stuttered around me, avoided my eyes when I tried to catch her gaze. If I pushed too much, she ran, so I held back. Made myself available but waited for her to come to me.

Which is how I ended up eating at the truck stop five nights a week—all on Shye’s shifts. I’d had to up my workouts to keep from getting soft on all the grease and baked goods, but seeing that smile every night was worth it. The coffee—man, that was a harder pill to swallow. How a restaurant could have such bad coffee—especially one based out of a truck stop—was beyond me. I drank cup after cup of the foul brew so she’d come to my table more often to pour me refills. Without the coffee, I didn’t get much time with Shye, so I suffered.

And when I worked? I sent my guys in there. Shye had no family in Justice, so I made sure everyone understood they were to treat her as they would a Kennard. Making my men see her as mine kept them watchful around her. Hell, I paid Bishop to eat his lunches there so he could keep an eye on her, and everyone on my team headed that way at least once a day if I had to go out of town. They mocked me relentlessly for chasing her around like a damned puppy, but I didn’t give a shit. I needed to know she was happy and safe. That she had everything she needed…even if she wasn’t ready to willingly take things from me yet. We’d get there. Three years I’d waited for her to come around, and she would. Eventually. I just had to figure out the right plan.

As I pondered honey-blond hair, sugary smiles, and how many times I could use the excuse of working on the ridge to stop and see her at her place, my phone rang again—Camden, this time.  

I swiped to answer and hit the button for speakerphone. “If you tell me we have another problem, I’m going to toss a grenade in your truck.”

“So I shouldn’t tell you we’ve got a fire on the mountain?”

Motherfucker. The trouble with harvesting the blue-stained wood left behind by the mountain beetle infestation was the trees needed to cure standing for a number of years. But dead trees meant dry trees, and with the droughts of the past few years and the mild winters we’d had, that meant trouble. Big, dry, tinder-type trouble. A single lightning bolt could ignite an inferno, while a forest fire could destroy the whole damn town.

And apparently, we had one to deal with.

“Where?” I grabbed my keys and pressed the mill-floor alarm to get the team’s attention.

“Eastern slope. Just past the Hansen property.”

My steps stumbled, then sped. “That’s by Shye’s place.”

An engine roared in the background. “I’m already on my way there. Two minutes out.”

She could be hurt in two minutes. Dead. Jesus fuck, I was too far away. “Drive faster.”

I hung up and stormed down onto the mill floor. My team stood ready, looking at me expectantly, ready to fight the fires we knew could ruin everything we’d all built here.

“Fire just east of the Hansen site. Let’s get two water trucks up the eastern side of the ridge and send one up to the west side to be safe.” I met the eyes of Gage Shepherd, former Navy SEAL like Bishop and current heavy machinery engineer of Kennard Mills. “It’s close to Shye’s place.”

Without another word, Gage began issuing orders to the team. He understood the severity of the situation from every angle—the loss of our product, the potential for destruction in the town, and the possibility that the woman I had my eye on could be in danger. He’d get shit done for me.

As Gage loaded the water trucks with oxygen tanks and medical equipment—something that made my gut churn—his dog Rex trotted after him, looking as if he was headed for a joyride instead of into a fire. Wouldn’t be the first time he’d been on site at a fire, though. Gage never went anywhere without Rex.

While Gage made sure the team knew where to go and what to do, I raced to my truck. My heart pounded as I started the engine and peeled out of my spot, heading for the ridge where smoke was beginning to turn the sky black above the tree line. Fuck, if Shye was up there, if she was hurt—

I didn’t get to finish my thought because my phone rang right as I turned onto the highway heading toward the mountain. Camden again.

“Tell me good news.”

“She’s not here,” Camden said, sounding slightly out of breath. “It’s her trailer on fire, though.”

“The water trucks are on the way.”

“Don’t think they’ll do any good for her, to be honest, but we need them for the tree line. It’s so dry up here, a single spark could set the whole mountain on fire.”

Confirming my earlier thoughts. Fuck. I yanked the wheel sideways, making a sharp turn onto the road that would take me up to Shye’s place, looking over all the dead, brown pine on the hillside as I flew over the rutted, gravelly road. “Gage had the team rolling out right behind me. I’m four minutes out, though.”

“Want me to call the fire department in Rock Falls?”

Wouldn’t do any good at that point, which was why Kennard Mills had as many water hauling trucks as we did. “No use, though you’d better call the sheriff.”

“That useless piece of shit? What for?”

Useless wasn’t the term I’d use—corrupt sounded better for the county sheriff we were forced to deal with. I didn’t have time to correct Camden, though. “He’ll throw a tantrum if he’s not informed. Knowing him, he won’t come out to investigate anyway. Just make the call.”

“Yeah, got it…hang on.” Voices yelled in the background, and the sound of Camden moving fast created static on the line.

“Cam?”

“We’ve got a problem.”

That phrase spoken about my girl’s place made me want to growl my frustration to the universe. “What fucking problem?”

“There are motorcycle tracks in the dirt around her property. Lots of them.”

Rage unlike anything I’d felt exploded in my chest. “Call the sheriff and put the word out—anyone sees a fucking Soul Sucker in Justice, I want to know about it.”

I hung up and threw my phone across the bench seat before taking the switchback turn way faster than I should have. Not that the worry burning in my gut had anything to do with me—Shye owned that ache.

Shye may not have known it, but she was mine. I’d do whatever it took to protect her.

And if this fucking motorcycle club had threatened my girl?

I’d gut them and leave their bodies for the predators.

About the Author:

Kristin Harte started off as a chemistry major in college but somehow ended up writing romances featuring ex-military heroes and the women who knock them to their knees…literally and figuratively. She likes drinking in the shade, snuggling under a warm blanket on a cold evening, and researching how to blow things up. Her children know nothing of what she writes, and her husband just hopes he’s not at their Chicago-ish home the day the government shows up to confront Kristin about her Google search history. When not writing good men doing bad things, Kristin can be found writing paranormal romance as Ellis Leigh or co-writing naughty novellas as London Hale.

Author Links:

Twitter: https://twitter.com/kristin_harte

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pg/authorkristinharte

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/17304863.Kristin_Harte

Web: http://www.kristinharte.com/

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/kristin_harte/

[livingmybestfictionallife]

Proximity (10)-Boo at the Zoo Pt.2

Prompt: Sebastian meets his newest neighbor and immediately finds her to be an interesting and genuine person. Before he knows it, he’s developing feelings for his much younger friend that he tries not to act on because of their age difference, only the proximity of their lives has other things in store for the couple.

A/N: So this central plot has changed a bit, but the story will stay the same--Reader and Seb trying to make things work despite the challenges thrown at them. ALSO, I actually have a Hawkette fanfiction that’s hinted in this story (if ya’ll are interested, I can update it on here, if you’re interested in that kind of thing)

Warnings: i can’t remember XD maybe language

Tags: @yourgayonlinemom, @broken-pieces, @bubblyanarocks3, @metal-arm-red-star, @yessy2012, @sebstanwassup, @bucky-bear-barnes, @starkxpotts, @kyleannsmut, @dammnnbucky, @crystallimythium, @harleenquinzzel, @camillechan, @marvelouslyloki, @msdrmarvel, @jesuistresjolie, @castielskitten, @ilovethings-somuch, @boyzines, @thelamegatsby, @huntressxtimelady, @left-boob-chris, @champssole-blog, @ruefulposts, @licoricelace, @pleasantbucky, @jjlevin, @anniemadeofclay, @-tulipsunflower-, @shakzer00, @one-of-the-boys, @come-and-figure-me-out, @miraisnotavailable, @ladymelissastark, @seargantbcky, @ballerinafairyprincess, @mydragulesebastian, @magsimovna, @the-amaranthine, @tomxhotland, @mummastace, @starmoras-walkman, @stacieisaloser, @can-a-girlsie-chime-in, @gallxntdean, @mackenziesgalaxy

“Tom, get down!” (Y/N) and Elizabeth yelled while the rest of the group urged the youngest member of their party to leap onto the fence post running along a small train track.

“Quit being moms,” Anthony slurred. “Tom’s doing something cool for once.”

“He’s going to fall,” Chris stated in a matter of fact tone.

“Thank you, Chris, for having some sense,” Elizabeth said while turning her attention to The Star-Spangled Man with a Plan.

“No, I mean he’s literally about to fall,” Chris said while pointing at Tom who tried to stand up and was wobbling on the post.

“Uh, guys?” he called out while everyone turned toward him. Being closest to the fence, (Y/N) hurried forward and grasped Tom by the forearm, steadying him while he tripped back over the fence and, like a cat, flailed mid-air before landing on his feet.

“That’s it, no more perching for Spider-Man,” Elizabeth scolded as Tom leaned back against the fence and tore his mask from his head for the first time that evening. The group had already been approached by a few fans before--some were sober enough to realize they were the actual Avengers while others were too drunk to see past the rag tag costumes.

“Fair call,” Tom muttered. Once he caught his breath, a couple of girls who had spotted him without his mask hurried over and tapped him on the shoulder. Of everyone, only Tom, Elizabeth, and (Y/N) were the most easily recognizable, but since no one knew who (Y/N) was, Tom and Elizabeth received the most attention from by-passers when unmasked.

“T-Tom Holland?” one of the girls asked him.

“Hi,” he smiled as the group started to disband and allow Tom time to take photos with his fans.

“Hawkette! Wait!” Immediately, (Y/N) turned around and faced the girls then pointed to herself. Upon doing so, the girls waved, asking her to come over. (Y/N) looked to Sebastian for reassurance as her face flushed of color.

“Go on,” he said with a smirk and prideful smile while giving her a little nudge.

“Can we have a picture of the two of you?” they asked.

“Don’t you want to be in it?” Tom asked in confusion.

“Yes, but first we want one of just you two,” the older of the two young women said.

“Um, okay?” Tom said with confusion while (Y/N) bit anxiously at her lip.

“Come on, Peter, put your arm around her,” the younger of the two urged. Tom obeyed and slipped his arm along (Y/N)’s waist and smiled while (Y/N) made a face that appeared to be fed up with ‘Peter’s’ antics, which made the girls laugh. “Perfect!” they smiled in reference to her facial expression.

“Can I ask what this is about?” Tom asked the two girls before they initiated a selfie with him and (Y/N).

“It’s a fanfiction thing,” one of the girls said with a blush.

“It’s called Hawkette so when we saw you two in costume, we were going to get a photo but then we realized you were you,” the other explained after snapping a few selfies with the pair, thanking them for their time, and then running off yelling ‘it’s canon’ at one another excitedly. Slowly, the rest of the group approached the (Y/N) and Tom with confused expressions.

“You better watch out, Sebastian, someone’s trying to steal your girl,” Anthony teased.

“What was that all about?” Chris asked.

“I guess you’re much more famous than you thought,” Sebastian teased (Y/N), causing her face to turn red and her lips to purse up at him, begging him to shut his mouth before he said anything more.

“What are you talking about?” Tom asked as (Y/N) shrunk back toward Elizabeth.

“Sebastian, don’t-”

“(Y/N) wrote fanfiction,” Sebastian cut off (Y/N) and said with a mix of pride and laughter in his voice.

“Will you shut up?” (Y/N) groaned.

“No way!” Anthony cackled loudly. “I’ve gotta see it!”

“What, is that what those girls were talking about?” Tom asked while turning his attention toward (Y/N). She groaned at Sebastian and huffed.

“I thought you loved me,” she teased him with a pout.

“I do,” Sebastian said while taking her in his arms in front of everyone. “I’m just also very proud of you.”

“You’ve never read it!” she protested.

“It has to be good for people to just know about it,” he said reassuringly while the rest of the group continued to pester her.

“What were those girls talking about?”

“Do you write sexy-time stuff?”

“Hold on, I’m looking it up!”

“Have you written about me?” (Y/N) shoved lightly against Sebastian’s chest and groaned as the other guys went back and forth with one another while Elizabeth stood silently with a subtle smirk on her lips.

“Fine, I wrote a Marvel character into the MCU and it got some recognition on a few of websites,” she explained. “It’s not a big deal. I just took Kate Bishop’s storyline, put her in Civil War and Homecoming, altered bits of Peter’s story into her background and made it all fit together without loose ends.”

“I found it!” Tom shouted. Immediately, everyone’s phones went off, signaling a message in the group chat.

“Yes!” Anthony cheered as Tom’s link to the story came through.

“No,” (Y/N) sighed while putting her face into her hands and feeling how hot her skin was turning. “Please,” she begged.

“Katherine Bishop was the youngest daughter of Derek and Eleanor Bishop. After her mother's death she isolated herself and became a very lonely child. At a young age she witnessed her father brutally assaulting a business partner in his home office and further detached herself from her family, becoming stubborn, self-reliant, and distrusting of others,” Tom read out loud.

“The summer between junior high and high school she was sexually harassed and attacked in Central Park. Only one man stood up to the attacker, sacrificing his life to save the girl’s,” Anthony continued.

“Katherine hurried toward the dying man to be intercepted by Clint Barton, known to the world as former Avenger, Hawkeye. She immediately recognized him and, overwhelmed with grief and guilt, demanded he train her to defend herself,” Chris read. 

“Since she had distanced herself from her father, Clint became a role model for her. He taught her a variety of martial arts techniques, trained her in hand to hand combat, and strengthened her already existing abilities as an archer to the point where she was on par with him. After Clint's "retirement" due to the Accords, and in opposition to and influx of recognition of a vigilante in her neighborhood called Spider-Man, Katherine's adventure as a hero begins,” Sebastian stated.

“Will she be able to live up to her namesake? Will Spider-Man pose a bigger problem to her ability to do her job? Will the Accords affect her in any way? ...What do you think?” Tom finished the intro (Y/N) remembered writing nearly a year and a half ago. “Fuck, now I want to read it,” Tom muttered to himself.

“It is really good, (Y/N),” Elizabeth said softly.

“You let Lizzie read it and not me?” Sebastian complained with a pout.

“I found it online one day,” Elizabeth explained. “I read everything that you have posted for that story and have been waiting for you to pick it back up,” Elizabeth stated with a sly smirk on her face.

“I’m going to find the scariest haunted house here and lock myself inside because it can’t possibly be worse than the nightmare I’m living,” (Y/N) grumbled.

“I always thought your dramatic nature came from spending so much time around Sebastian, but it turns out, that was all you,” Anthony laughed.

“I hate all of you,” (Y/N) grumbled with a laugh as she started walking towards the reptile exhibit and the adjacent haunted house.

“Come on, (Y/N),” Sebastian yelled after her while shoving his phone into is pocket and chasing after her. He grabbed her waist and pulled her back to the group with a smile on his face. “We’re just teasing you because we all love you.”

“You have nothing to be embarrassed about,” Chris admitted to her with a gentle smile that spread to the crocheted wings poking out over his ears.

“Yeah, if Tom can dress up in Spider-Man costumes until he’s twenty and not be ashamed, you’ve got nothing to worry about,” Anthony said.

“We won’t read it if you’re uncomfortable with it,” Sebastian said while rubbing his hand along her back. After contemplating everything she’s written, (Y/N) sighed and realized there wasn’t anything in the story that would cause her extreme embarrassment...yet.

“I don’t know why you’d want to read it, but I don’t care if you do,” she finally admitted.

“Good, because I’m on chapter two,” Tom announced as he stared at his phone screen.

Continued Installments