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hibewriter · 6 months ago

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Belonephobia

Masterlist Read it on AO3 Chapter 2

Spiderman: Across the Spiderverse | Migwen | 6.7K | E

Chapter 1

"Sure you don't wanna stay the night, Gwen? I promise Margo doesn't mind."

Gwen took one look at Miles, all grown up on practically the other side of the world, and shook her head. She was only going to be at Stanford for two days, and she already wasted the first working up the courage to knock on the door to the off-campus apartment that Miles had gotten with Margo. She had to leave to even hope to get back in time for classes to resume at NYU. Spring Break was no excuse.

"Nah, I gotta start heading back. My hotel is only two hours away, and then I'm spending the night at Hobie's, so ya know…" She hated the way he looked at her, no longer how he used to. Instead, his eyes were full of concern and disbelief. He'd seen her worn hoodie and torn shoes. He had been at the funeral.

But he didn't push.

Just a hug. Another tight-lipped smile as she headed out the door. A wave when she turned back from her car.

Text me when you get to your hotel.

She breaks down thirty minutes away from the hostel she booked. A dead end for hikers, runaways, and various other riff-raff with twenty bucks and two feet. Her car pulls to a sputtering stop, slightly off the side of the road. She sees the smoke in the waning light of the surprisingly dusty road, rising from the hood of the rusted bucket she inherited from the Captain.

She knew she should've gotten it checked before making the cross-country trip. Probably could've afforded the repairs with the leftover cash from her dad's emergency fund. But that would've required thinking before she packed her few belongings into the car and took off.

She was kind of surprised she made it this far if she was honest.

She sighs, tugging her phone out of the cup holder she tossed it into. 10% . Another sigh fights its way to the surface, giving her pause as she tries to figure out what to do. A tow truck would take too long, and her phone would never last. Her battery pack is dead, gone from her day of use building her resolve. The road looks…empty. The last building she passed was around forty minutes ago driving in the other direction.

She worries her lip, staring towards the vagueness of the road ahead. She could try to walk it. Get lost, maybe, and get eaten by wolves or coyotes or whatever they had in the California desert. Or she could stay in the car. Turn it off, lock the doors, and make a makeshift bed out of her duffle in the back seat. She could walk back to that bar in the morning. Call a tow truck and get the fuck out of dodge by nightfall tomorrow if she's lucky.

She nods, mainly to herself as the plan solidifies in her brain. Rest. Regroup. Tackle the problem. She can do that.

Her head's barely on the stuffed duffle for more than ten minutes when she hears the soft rapping at her window. She bolts up, squinting against the light shining in her face from the unexpected guest's flashlight.

Never fully roll down your window to a stranger. Her father's voice rings in her head as she moves to roll the antiquated handle down. Just a crack so she can hear.

"Ma'am, you can't park here." The voice is deep honey spent, familiar only in its tone. The same tone she’s heard dozens of cops use all her life. She shakes her head, still squinting against the light. Has the sun really set so quickly? Maybe it’s been longer than ten minutes.

"M' sorry, officer," she mutters, sitting up fully."My car broke down and my phone died. You wouldn't happen to have one I could use, do you?"

It's silent for a beat, and she holds her breath, hoping he doesn’t ask for any papers. She hadn't quite shifted the plates to her name yet. Or fully renewed her license. But she can swear she hears the beep of his radio. Swears he mutters something about an O'Hara into the receiver.

"Where are you headed?" he asks, and she wants to ask him to turn the light down. Let her see properly so she doesn't feel so groggy.

"The Fillmore Hostel down the road."

Another beep, a mutter of civilian assistance .

"I'll take you there while my partner comes to collect your car."

She's never heard of such a procedure in her life. Alarm bells start to ring in her ears, telling her to shrink away from the figure on the other side of the door. She shakes her head, scooting down the seat. "I'd rather stay in my car, if you don't mind."

The sigh that comes out of him is more akin to a beast, full of disappointment and chiding . As if an unruly child had just demanded candy from him knowing damn well dinner was almost ready.

"It's not safe out here," he says, clearly on the edge of his patience. "I'm going to have to ask you to come with me."

Again, she shakes her head, inching away from the door again as he huffs.

"You just had to make this difficult, didn't you?"

The next moments happen in a flash. One second, she’s inching to the other side of the car. The next, an entire arm the size of both her legs is shoved through broken glass. A singular hand finds her ankle, ignoring her squirming and yelling as she tries to escape the stranger who found her. His fingers overlap circling her calf, finally finding purchase on her before he yanks .

She's tugged nearly halfway out of the vehicle. Her nails are ineffective against cloth seats as he pulls her out of the window, tight into his arms. And she shrieks, loud as she can against the futility of the night. It's all she can do before she feels a sharp prick in her neck. In the next second, the world goes black .

__________

It's the clinking of metal against metal that rouses her from the darkness. Not that it's much brighter in the room when she wakes. Or maybe it's the haze in her vision that makes it seem much darker than it is. Her eyes refuse to adjust, the shadows are long and cold as she tries to orient herself.

She's on a cheap mattress. Similar to the worn ones at her sleepaway camps upstate when she felt the longing for home. The room is nothing but concrete slabs, a single bulb illuminating the space – what little there was.

"You're awake."

The voice brings no comfort. It's a sugary molasses, slow and sickening as it passes over the burnt embers of his mouth. She tries to move, only to find the pressure on her shoulders refusing to relent. The most she can do is lift her head, despite protest from every cell in her body.

He's on the other side of the room, just out of range of the feeble light. It didn't matter, really. From her limited vantage point, he is a colossus, his frame nearly touching the ceiling of the room. If only she could see a door, but even without the reference she can tell he’s wide. Just his shadow fills the space to the point it feels claustrophobic. As if a shift would fill her past capacity.

"Are you hungry?"

She reels, brain swimming to process the words. "What?"

"Are you hungry?" he asks again, stepping to the side. He keeps to the wall, just out of full view. "I've heard the effects of the toxin can have adverse effects on the body's digestive system–"

"Wh–what? Toxin?"

"Well, it's more of a paralytic I've been working on. Though I fear I may have given you too much, most don't sleep for eighteen hours."

Eighteen hours. She feels tears welling in a burning sensation against her dry eyes. She was supposed to be headed to Hobie’s apartment right now, letting the desert air flow through freshly cut hair with a new punk record playing over the speakers of her dad’s ‘67 Buick. Instead, she doesn’t even know where she is.

Her stranger doesn’t appear to be too bothered by her silence. His steps are soft, terrifyingly so as he paces around the room. She hears, rather than sees, his ruffling through cabinets and drawers. Each grind of drawer wheels against metal, the soft closing of a makeshift cupboard as he rummages for food or tools. Maybe he was planning to cut her, take the only thing from her that didn’t hurt, and drag her through the nightmares that plagued her. Maybe he was creating new ones for her to fear.

“You know, chiquitita ,” he murmurs as if simply discussing plans for the coming weekend. “I didn’t expect you . Si no fuera por el capitán … si no hubiera muerto ese día . You see where things could’ve been different, yes?”

She huffs, ignoring the pain in her throat as she swallows, wincing at the crack of her voice. “I don’t speak Spanish.”

Even if she can’t see him, the amusement is evident in his laugh. "Of course, you don't. Why would you? It's not like New York has a large Spanish-speaking community."

The words seem to swirl in her mind, both far and close as she lies in her cot. He continues to rummage around, noises echoing through the room. New York. Capitán. New York. Capitán. New York. Capitán. The sound of the water running is an accent to the running thoughts in her mind. Still, she can do nothing but groan. There’s something to connect but the pounding in her head refuses to let her.

“Drink.” Her eyes fly open (when had they closed?) to see the man standing above her. They go wide, staring at his face.

Capitán. Captain George Stacy. Promoted after his exemplary work in apprehending the leader of the 2099 Crawlers. The same leader was supposed to be rotting in a cell on the other side of the country right now. Instead, he is staring down at her, a bored expression on his face as he holds a small cup to her face.

She shakes her head, lips pressed together. What is there to describe his face other than disappointment? Suddenly his hand strikes out, slipping between her head and the lumpy mattress. His grip encapsulates her skull, dragging her head upward against her restraints. “Open your mouth or I’ll open it for you.”

Her hesitation is quickly forgotten as he moves to set the glass down, mouth turning agape in his stranglehold. The corner of his lips upturned, grip renewing on the cup as he proceeds to slowly pour into her waiting mouth.

The water is a fountain after what feels like a month of dehydration. It soothes away the ache of sore flesh, a cooling stream of relief against the effects of her poison. She wants to close her eyes in relief, to savor the feeling, but she can only stare at her captor. Even when he drops her head, letting it fall back into the mattress, she can only stare. Some of the water falls out, splashing over her face and clothes, but she can’t stop tracking his movements. He studies her back, squinting at her in kind.

“I originally planned to make our dear Georgie suffer,” he states, calm as the sky on a summer afternoon. “Imagine my disappointment to learn that all that is left of him is you .”

“What are you going to do to me?”

“That, chiquita, is up to you.”

He backs away from her then, unfurling his crouched position back to his full height. She watches as he turns and walks to the far wall. Can do nothing but watch as he moves the rusted metal of the door she hadn’t noticed as if it weighed nothing. Watches as he glances over his shoulder back at her. “When you’re hungry, just say so.”

__________

By her count, there are exactly three spiders in what she now can recognize as a basement of some sort. One hovers on the wall behind her head, just above the sink and cabinetry. The second moves every three-ish minutes toward the light fixture on the ceiling, occasionally dropping to create more of its web. The third is a track star, running between the various areas of the room as it searches. For what, she’s unsure. Is it food? A comfortable space for it to nest?

The restraints (metal bars across her chest, stomach, wrists, legs, and ankles) remove themselves after hours ( days?) pass. A whirring sound fills the entire room and blocks out any thought she may have had. But she can finally move. Sitting up seems to be just as much a struggle as keeping her eyes open, but she does it anyway. Her muscles creak and groan as she stretches; whether they’re stiff from their held positions or the last of the poison in her body, she doesn’t know.

“You have an hour before you need to be lying back on that cot,” his voice rings from the sky. “If I have to put you back myself, we will have a problem.”

She frowns, finally swinging her legs off the mattress. “What if I have to pee?”

“There is the sink or the drain in the middle of the room.”

She frowns, staring at where she thinks the sound is coming from. He can’t be serious. Nonetheless, she stands. Finally, her limbs move – each step releasing the numbing pinpricks in her nerves as they get used to pacing the small room.

She tries the door first. Swears she can hear the snort of laughter from farther away when she finds it heavy and locked. He’d moved it like paper earlier, but she swears it must weigh at least fifty pounds with how ineffective her pushes are.

Next, she explores the cabinets. Plastic bowls and plates, silverware locked in a clear box. The glass from earlier upon closer inspection is nothing but plastic either. No soap, no toiletries. Just water.

“Can I take a shower?!” She calls, not even bothering to try and find a source for the violent man on the other side. “Or brush my teeth?!”

“Not now.”

She sighs, filling another cup of water. Not that she expected luxury from her captor. Or that he’d proven himself to be particularly magnanimous.

The hour is up before she realizes it, and she finds herself annoyed with her traitorous body as it moves to the cot and lies back in her position. No matter how she tries to rationalize her thoughts as trying to stay alive, she still finds herself annoyed with herself for folding so easily to his demands.

"Good girl," his voice rings as the bars return to their position on top of her. She squirms, the indescribable panic creeping up her chest. "You're doing so well; maybe tomorrow we'll give you two hours."

She whimpers and nods. That does sound nice. He was going to keep her, until at least tomorrow. Still, she feels an aching pain within her. It gnaws at her stomach, twisting and turning as her head began to ache again. "I'm hungry."

She's met with silence. For a second she almost believes he's left. Left her alone in this windowless room as punishment for her wrongdoings. What wrongdoings she can’t be sure of. He'd told her to tell him when she was hungry. He wouldn't have done that if he didn't plan on fixing it.

The door opens in a woosh. He's standing there, a plate of toast and apple slices in hand as he begins to cross the room toward her cot.

"Food," he says as if she can't see the plate in his hand. He balances it easily as he walks in, dragging a chair behind him. She says nothing until he sits, the food now balanced on his knee. "No funny business, pollito ."

She nods, this time merely dropping her mouth for him to put the first apple slice in. She relishes the crunch. The explosion of juice in her mouth is somehow the most satisfying thing in the world to her. Happily, she takes the second slice, watching his dark eyes as they follow the working of her jaw. It's the third slice that he switches hands. He rests his newly freed hand on her stomach. Not pressing down, no trailing of his fingers.

"Did you know I once had a wife? A daughter?" he asks as if telling her a bedtime story. She shakes her head, no. He sighs.

"Well, I did. Paula and Gabrielle." For a moment he looks peaceful, remembering the family he had. “When I took over the 2099, Paula was furious .”

Her brow furrows, her heart rate quickening against her chest. The hand on her stomach flexes, nails sharp even through the thin cotton shirt.

“She didn’t like the danger of it,” he sighs. The next bite is a piece of toast, so tiny in the hands of a beast. “Said it was too violent to raise our girl in. But I had a plan, you see.”

His nails dig into her stomach, pressing, scraping, and flinging as she looks at him with fear-filled eyes. But he doesn’t seem perturbed. It’s like she barely registers as real, a simple doll for him to ground himself with.��

“I had stopped the drug pushing. Or at least the major bits. We still had internationals to deal with. Partners who wanted us to finish contracts, things of that nature. But we were protecting our own, right?”

Her breath catches when she realizes what his hand is doing. It’s only when he finds it, the high waistband of her leggings, that it registers. He makes quick work of her shirt, rucking it up with one hand as he continues his monologue.

“Then Jess . Fucking Jess was convinced that George was a good one. Someone who could help us . When has the NYPD ever helped anyone?” His anger is palpable, laced into the tone of each word as his hand slips under the band of her pants. Suddenly her hunger is gone, her eyes widening as he continues his exploration southward.

“W-wait, I –”

“ Callate perrito ,” he hisses. He is no longer looking at her face, attentions drifting southward as his fingers break the seal of the underwear she’d worn. “Did you know it was George who arranged for the shipment to New York? I told the group, no, we didn’t need it. But George infected us. Made us weak.”

She can only whimper as his finger trails her slit. It stings, the soft laughter he lets free when he finds her dry. Cruel , she thinks.

“Tell me, chiquita, do you do the same? Infect your friends with your silly ideas of what is right, only to hurt them in the end?” he spits at her. She doesn’t know whether he wants an actual answer, or if he is simply musing aloud. He withdraws his hand, and for a brief second, she believes maybe that is going to be the end of it. He’ll leave, and come back to feed her in the morning without his touch infecting her.

She never is that lucky.

He sticks his fingers in his mouth, giving a gentle suck before slipping them down her pants once more.

“George,” he continues, pressing his index against her clit. Years of fumbling with boys and he’d found hers within a second of touching her. “He was a bastard. Only brought Jess and me to the meetup. Should’ve known it was a trap. But Jess vouched for him. I wonder, chiquita , if you were home alone, sleeping soundly as your father lead us to death?”

She has a hard time concentrating on his words, a whimper escaping her mouth as he presses tight circles into her clit. Her body is a traitor, responding to his touches in kind as she feels herself warm. It pools and coils in her gut, a serpent of arousal as he pulls from her feelings she’d pushed far away since that day .

“I wonder if you celebrated the night he put us behind bars.” He leans forward, his lips just on the shell of her ear. “I wonder if while you celebrated, your father knew what his men were doing to the families of the 2099?”

She cries out as he lets his finger pierce her opening, still far too dry to receive any sort of penetration.

“That’s how Jess screamed when they beat her. Cruel, no?” he whispers, drawing the finger out just to slip it back in. “They killed her husband next. A raid with no warrant, no discipline still. Not so much as a reprimand.”

She can only whimper in return. It feels sickening, the pleasure he rips from her with each stroke of his finger inside. Silently, she is grateful for the bar holding her hips down, refusing to allow her to chase the sensation when he pulls out. The wetness between her legs builds, regardless of her wants.

“Poor cosita linda, so confused? Imagine how Paula felt when the police came to our house. Took her in front of our angel . Then they told her I was gone.” His words are straight venom, a hiss to add to the sting as he forces a second finger inside. “And they kept coming back.”

Tears flow freely now, and she wants to reach out, push him away, or hold his hand to the only place that doesn’t hurt. But he doesn’t release her. His thumb joins the fray, returning the attention to her clit.

"I think I figured out what to do with you, linda ." His voice is a razor blade, his tongue a serpent's fork, as he reaches out and tasted the salty tears on her cheeks. "And you're going to enjoy it, aren't you?"

"N-no," she hiccups, weakly. "I don't want–"

"It's not about what you want," he murmurs, and the coil tightens inside her, rushing for release. "It's about making things right. A family for a family. A daughter for a wife."

Her teeth bite into her cheek, drawing blood as her body seizes. She feels as her orgasm courses through her entire being, clenching and releasing her nerves from head to toe until the only thing she can focus on is the two fingers coaxing her down.

"There you go," he whispers as if soothing a balm on a tiny cut. There is silence for only a moment, the only sound in the room her jagged breathing and soft sobs. "Rest now, chiquita , there will be more in the morning."

#migwen

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sharperthewriter · 5 years ago

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Chapter 24 of SFV

Chapter 24 - Day 2: Passing Ships

(2:50pm)

"Here we are, Stoppable troops! South Dakota!" Kim exclaimed as the Stoppable-mobile crossed the state line from Nebraska to South Dakota. "We are going to enjoy a full week of family time and good turkey!"

She then asked her husband.

"Ron, can you check and see if the lemon squares are still good in the back?"

Ron peered his head and saw the container that had the squares.

"They're good so far, KS!" Ron replied.

"Good! We need to make sure they do not get smushed up by any means."

"So that means we're here?" Justin asked from the back seat.

"Nope!" Kim said with a smile, "We still have about 3 1/2 hours of driving left."

"AWWWWWWW!"

Both the Stoppable kids moaned in the back seat, for they were going to have to deal with nothing but the boring South Dakota prairie all around them.

(French Narrator: 30 minutes later)

The Stoppable-mobile continued its way onward up US 83 north to get to Murdo, which was an hour away from their current point. They had just passed the small 1,000-soul town of Mission.

Kim put her hands on the steering wheel, her fingers gripping the rubber. It was relatively peaceful in the van with the rest of the Stoppables sound asleep It seems that all of the issues of the first day and the whole issue with the camper's tire today was behind them.

All of a sudden, she then heard the motor of a convertible. She had not seen a car on 83 for a good solid 15 miles.

Huh? Who could that be in this patch of God-forsaken-knows where?

Looking behind her, Kim saw the convertible, red in color, coming from behind. It was going at least the speed limit, which was 65 miles an hour. The motor of the car didn't wake up the other Stoppables because they were in a deep sleep. The convertible finally caught up to the minivan in the other lane because a) there were no other cars around for miles and b) there was no solid line, so other cars could pass the Stoppable-mobile.

Kim then studied the well-built young man. She estimated him to be in his late-20s, early 30s, He was very well-built, toned, and muscular and was smiling at her. He was also wearing a white tank top to show off the said muscular frame of his and baggy jeans that were a size too big for him, for it showed off his green tartan boxers and he was wearing said jeans below his buttocks.

But the two physical traits that were a dead giveaway to whom he was were a) his blue eyes and b) those frosted tips that he still styled on his hair.

It can't be!

Kim couldn't believe her eyes. Deep within the recesses of her memory bank, she finally knew who he was.

It was none other than her old crush: Joshua Wendell Mankey. This was the first time in almost 13 years that the two had seen each other face to face.

Kim exactly recalled the last time she had seen...or heard about...Josh.

(late-March 2006)

It seemed so quiet and peaceful within the hallowed halls at Middleton High. Kim, a junior at that point like the rest of her friends, grabbed her books from her locker. She didn't have to worry much with cheer practice now that both football and basketball seasons were over so practices were scaled back to just twice a week as opposed to four times a week. But something else occupied the student body at the high school, a four-letter word that elicits beautiful dresses and young boys on the verge of becoming men in tuxedos in a matter of the next three weeks.

Prom.

Everyone else,especially the cheer squad, was trying to figure out who was going to date whom. The star QB, Brick Flagg, was absolutely no contest. It was Bonnie whom was going to take him to the prom, though she wished he would stop staring at the girl with the giant hoops at the mall. As for Jessica, she was with Steve Foley. And for Tara, she had Josh Mankey by her side. For Kim, though, she was SOL. Her missions of saving the world from maniacal villains with global conquest dreams left her very little time in the way of dating. Bonnie, of course, mocked Kim endlessly for this, but the redhead usually ignored her banter.

Jessica, that day, came up to Kim and asked, "Heya, Kim!"

"Hey, Jess! What's the sitch?" Kim asked.

"Oh, you know that we have that chemistry test coming up on Friday, right?" Jess questioned.

"Yeah, I recall Barkin saying something about that. No need to worry, though. I'm going to ace it!" Kim exclaimed.

"Well, I got a text from Ron saying that he may need some help studying." Jess said, pulling out a text from her flipphone of Ron asking for help.

"That's so not like him." Kim said, "He's usually...how do I put it in his words...chillaxin' to a Scamper and Bitey marathon or challenging Rufus to a nacho stacking contest at Bueno Nacho."

"He may have had a change of heart as of late." Jess replied. "He and Tara need help in Chemistry class: Ron from a D to a C and Tara from a C to a B. So I have come up with the idea of a study group to help the both of them out."

"Yes..." Kim replied, knowing that one of the only classes Tara was struggling in her junior year was Chemistry. "...that is a very excellent idea! Why don't we gather at my house for Thursday night before that test on Friday!"

"Sure! What about 6pm?" Jess asked for a time.

"Sounds spankin' to me!" Kim replied, "And can you send a text to her, Monique, Zita and Felix about it as well!

"Sure do!" Jess replied.

(A couple of days later)

"Do we have everyone on board?" Kim asked. It was Thursday evening in front of her house and the sun was going down.

"I'm more than ready to take on Barkin's Chemistry test tomorrow..." Ron said, holding his chemistry book, "...I hope." Rufus, from his pocket, was holding the periodic table.

"I think we do." Zita said. She looked around and saw herself, Felix, Kim, Ron, Monique and Jessica.

"Wait, girl, we're missing one!" Monique exclaimed, "Where's Tara?"

"Dunno...come to think of it, I haven't seen her at school all day." Jess added with concern for her cheer friend.

Kim then felt a rumble from her cell.

"I'll get that!" she said, opening up her phone.

It was a text from Tara saying: Kim, meet me in the treehouse at my house. Bring only Ron and Monique with you.

"Guess me, Ron and Mon will have to head to Tara's to see what's the matter with her." Kim said.

"But what about us?" Zita asked, looking at Felix and Jess.

"We'll meet you three at my room." Kim replied, "Right now, Tara's sitch is more important...whatever it is..."

(10 minutes later)

Kim, Ron, and Monique came to the Queen house. Monique was the first to knock on the door.

Mrs. Amelda Queen opened it.

"Oh heya, Mrs. Queen!" Monique said, waving her hand. "Is Tara around?"

Amelda said, sighing, "The poor thing has been in her tree house ever since last night. Me and Paul were trying to figure out what it was, but all we heard was sobbing from there."

"We'll investigate what it is that's bugging her!" Kim replied. "If there is anyone in our group that has known Tara longer, it's me."

The trio then reached the backyard where Tara's treehouse was.

"Tara? You up there?" Kim asked.

Her question was answered by the sound of sobs.

Recognizing the sound, the trio climbed up the stairs to where Tara was at.

"Tara? What's the sitch?" Kim asked.

Tara's normally carefully prepared wavy blond hair was all messed up. Tears were streaming down her face. She had eaten very little since last night.

"Hey...Kim..." the blonde cheerleader said with a sniffle, trying to wipe away her tars. She then tried to articulate a name.

"J...J...J...J..."

Tara then finally screamed it out loud.

"JOSH MANKEY BROKE UP WITH MEEEEEEEEE!"

She cried loudly into Kim's arms.

(5 minutes later)

After her crying subsided, Kim gave Tara another tissue. The latter blew into it and tossed it aside. Tissues were all over the place around the treehouse.

"He was kissing another girl during Spring Break while me and the family took him to the beach. Apparently Josh was more interested in girls wearing bikinis than my one-kini..." Tara explained, tears still streaming down her eyes, "When I confronted him about this at the hotel, he told me that our relationshp was done and told me to kiss a horse's butthole, to put it mildly. He transferred to Lowerton High after that."

Kim shuddered, "And to think...I had a crush on that blue-eyed cheat!"

(end of flashback)

And now, all this time later, the 'cheat' that she was referring to was now driving on a US highway, all muscular and making goo-goo eyes at her.

Kim then looked at the now-muscular Josh and then back at her husband, still asleep, picking his nose and eating the mucus in his mouth, unaware of what was going on with his wife.

Heya, Kim! It's been a very long while! Josh mouthed without articulating any sound.

Kim, an expert at reading lips, replied sternly, also not making a sound to wake up Ron.

What the Hell do you want, Josh? I do not have time for this! I am on vacation.

Wanna spend some time with me? he said silently.

Sorry, Josh, I'm taken! Kim replied with a sarcastic smirk, showing off her wedding band, Thanks for the offer though!

We'll see about that! Josh said with a wink of his eye as he pulled away from the Stoppable-mobile. The license plate, California by the design of it, had the plate of LUV ME on it.

Kim just gave a look of disgust and kept on driving the Stoppable-mobile.

#kim possible #fanfiction #stoppable family vacation

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bethestaryouareradio · 4 years ago

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ARE YOU READY TO EVACUATE?

https://www.lamorindaweekly.com/archive/issue1414/Are-you-ready-to-evacuate.html

ARE YOU READY TO EVACUATE? Emergency Preparation and Creating a “Go Bag” for Disasters by Cynthia Brian

In the last few weeks, we’ve experienced unprecedented weather conditions with temperatures in the three digits, ferocious winds, low humidity, thunderstorms, and lightning strikes resulting in more perilous and damaging wildfires. Frightening fire tornadoes, also called fire whirls or firenadoes”, blazed over thousands of acres in Northern California. Dry conditions will only worsen in the forthcoming months. Air quality is precariously unhealthy with dangerous concentrations of tiny PM 2.5 particles that penetrate deep into the lungs.

Natural disasters know no boundaries. One never knows if a fire, earthquake, flood, mudslide, or other calamity is on the horizon. It’s imperative to be prepared for all emergencies. Because of climate change and global warming, we can be assured that our future will include more widespread, frequent, devastating, and deadly natural disasters.

Be Prepared!

Here are ways that you can be ready for the unexpected. Add your requirements to these tips and be ready to drive away at a moment’s notice. Besides Go Bag essentials listed below, these are items that require your attention.

1. Sign up for emergency alerts via our County Community Warning System at https://cwsalerts.com where you can register your phones, emails, and text numbers to be notified. Add this phone number to your favorites for notifications from CCWS: (925) 655-0195. Even if you are already registered with Nixle https://www.nixle.com, our local CCWS is the alert system that will be used for location-specific information. Also, visit https://www.lamorindacert.org for more information. To check on air quality, visit https://www.airnow.gov

2. Practice an evacuation plan with your family. Know the safest exits from your home and educate everyone in the family on the best route.

3. Install an analog landline phone if you don’t already have one. These are the old- fashioned phones where the jack plugs into the wall. Electricity is not necessary for them to work. Although billing is more expensive than cell phones, when the power is out, these landlines work.

4. Designate someone out of state to report to. Everyone in the family must have their contact information in case of separation.

5. Make a rescue plan for your pets and animals and have a bag ready for them next to your Go Bag.

6. Know how to manually open automatic garage doors and gates.

7. Make copies of your passport, driver’s license, credit cards, insurance information, and have small bills available. Put these in your Go Bag.

8. Backup your computers, scan your important documents, and keep files in the cloud or off-site.

9. Family mementos, jewelry, heirlooms, and any irreplaceable article that you can’t live without must be stored with your Go Bag.

10. Know your neighbors and their contact numbers to keep in touch to make sure everyone is safe.

11. Make a list of a network of friends that you can call in an emergency.

12. Know where you will go in evacuations.

13. Have a sign already made with your name and phone number and the words “All Evacuated” sitting on top of your Go Bag along with a roll of blue painter’s tape. Only if time permits, tape your sign to your door when you leave so that firefighters know the house is clear.

14. Listen to and obey the first responders. These trained men and women have your safety and that of your home as their priorities. Follow their orders.

15. When told to evacuate, go quickly and carefully. Take one vehicle only so as not to clog the escape routes. Do not attempt to evacuate on foot.

16. Stay calm.

Whatever the calamity, it will behoove you to have an emergency supply kit (AKA “Go Bag”) in every vehicle and a larger one in your home in a closet or area near the door you will use to escape. These supplies need to last you for one or more days. You want duplicate Go Bags in your vehicles because when disaster strikes you may be in your vehicle and unable to return home. In an emergency at your dwelling, you may only have time to grab your keys, phone, wallet, pets, Go Bag, and what you can carry. There will not be time to “load your car” or to be searching or running from room to room to find what you need. Keep everything that is essential together in one place. Remember, you may be evacuated for hours, days, or weeks. Sometimes, as has been the case with our California wildfires and earthquakes, a matter of minutes means the difference between life and death.

Most of all, remember that saving your life and that of your family is the most important. Everything else can be replaced.

Fill a backpack or small case with the following and keep one of these in ALL of your vehicles and one in your home. Pack a small bag for each family member, or, if easier, pack a larger bag to include everyone. Remember you may only take ONE vehicle upon an evacuation.

Go Bag Necessities  First Aid kit Duplicate chargers for phones, tablets, and computers Work gloves Warm gloves Towelettes Small towel Bottled water (1 gallon per person per day) Blanket Walking shoes Socks Warm jacket Peanut butter Honey Protein bars Personal hygiene kit with a toothbrush, soap, medications Matches Candle Flashlight and headlamp with extra batteries Eating utensils and plates Breathing masks Niosh-N95 Clothing change Extra set of keys to home, office, etc. Cash Toilet Paper Breathing masks Niosh-N95

Because of the pandemic, N95 grade masks are in short supply and reserved for medical professionals. Although better than nothing, unfortunately, surgical masks, cloth masks, and bandanas do not protect against smoke inhalation. The Air Resources Board advises everyone to stay indoors with windows and doors closed. Run recirculating fans or air conditioners and keep aware of changing conditions.

Hopefully, you will never have to use these emergency kits, but it’s best to be prepared. It is natural to assume that a catastrophe will happen to someone else, but the reality is no one is immune. Across the country, natural disasters are becoming more prevalent and frequent.

It is becoming a common cliché to utter “stay safe.” Instead, be proactive and be prepared. The life you save will be your own. Read: https://www.lamorindaweekly.com/archive/issue1414/Are-you-ready-to-evacuate.html

Cynthia Brian is a New York Times best-selling author of several books, TV/Radio personality/producer, lecturer, columnist, enrichment coach, and Founder/Executive Director of Be the Star You Are!® 501 c3. In her spare time, Cynthia can be found playing in her garden. www.CynthiaBrian.com

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goddessgardener · 4 years ago