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uzumaki-rebellion · 5 months ago

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"A Tattoo and the Bloodsucker Blues"

(A Terry Richmond Vampire AU Fic)

Summary:

You thought the tattoo on his arm marked him as one of those Hoteps or Nation of Islam brothas that hawked bean pies on the corner with the Final Call. But little did you know it meant more than that. That's why you have to track him down and kill him... before the baby in your belly can turn into his kind.

(This fic will strictly be for the grown and sexy. Smut, Violence, Blood. Dropping October 30th at Midnight on All Hallow's Eve.)

“I don’t wanna wait for love

Every time I do

I don’t wanna wait for love

Waitin’ on him

Are you warm enough?

Coco blood

Are you warm enough?

Coco blood”

Celeste – “Coco Blood”

Celeste Profitt checked the GPS on her smartphone one more time before stepping out of her gun metal gray Dodge Charger.

She drove out to find the pale green double shotgun house, which was sequestered on the outskirts of St. Celestine Parish. Ten years previously, there had been flooding in the county her grandmother named Celeste after, and many families left the area when their insurance wouldn’t pay for water damage. The houses left behind looked like gaps in the teeth of someone with infected gums. It reeked of working class poverty, the kind of poverty Celeste ferociously clawed her way out of by holding down two jobs. One at the poultry factory, where she removed the putrid raw entrails of slaughtered chickens, and the other at a nursing home, where she cleaned shitty bed pans and kept company with neglected elders with no kinfolk nearby.

The shotgun houses left standing weren’t different from the Creole cottage she rented less than seven miles away, and she cut her eyes back to the one she needed. Damp air with the hint of rain coming caused her to sniffle. It smelled old around there, and something had definitely died in some bushes across the street. She zipped up her dark blue windbreaker and fingered the pepper spray she carried in the jacket’s pocket. Couldn’t be too careful around folks who chose to stay in a bad situation. It still smelled like floodwater and deep regrets.

She pulled a cigarette from her purse, but stuffed it back down to the bottom, reminding herself that she was pregnant now and couldn’t hurt the baby that rested in her womb. The urge to puff daily was a struggle, and she refused to toss a ten-dollar pack of nicotine in the garbage. Shit, she might sell a few loosies if she needed to. Her funds were getting low paying for all the high-priced gas she burned through looking for her baby daddy.

Terry Richmond.

That’s what he called himself, but now she wasn’t too sure if that was his real name or not since she couldn’t find his ass anymore once she decided to keep their baby. She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. She needed to stay calm and not think about the hurt and hate she carried in her heart for that man. Never trust a pretty boy with pretty eyes and a third leg. That should’ve been her motto from jump. But that was neither here nor there with the position she found herself in at the moment. Right now she needed some answers and the woman inside the pale green shotgun house was supposed to have the solution.

She fingered a plastic grocery bag she also carried in her purse. Inside it was a blood plasma bag she toted around every day that she fed from when the urge overtook her on some days. The cravings for blood grew worse, and the fetus inside her stayed absorbing every nutrient from her body. What it wanted most lately was the blood in her purse. The baby inherited fifty-fifty of its parent’s genes, and back when she thought things were cool between them, all lovey-dovey and real passionate in those early days…well, Celeste imagined their baby inheriting Terry’s pretty eyes and her thick wondrous hair. He was lighter than her and she figured the baby would come out a gorgeous brown that was a mix of their two different skin tones. The last thing she wanted was for her child to come out with Terry’s hunger.

For blood.

Celeste zipped her purse back up and concentrated on what she was there to do.

Talk to the Black witch of St. Celestine Parish.

The renowned Voodoo priestess down in Nawlins last weekend was a grand failure at solving her problem. That lady's Catholic ass made the sign of the cross several times throughout Celeste’s consultation, which was a bit much for her taste. Celeste grew up Catholic too, but found it irritating that a Voodoo priestess acted so scary about a bloodsucker, while also bragging about turning people who were made into zombies back into human beings. At least that’s what she claimed on her website. That phony bitch started whimpering and calling for Jesus when Celeste pulled back her shirt and lifted her bra to show the fang marks on her titties that Terry made that never healed properly. She explained how she became allergic to her silver jewelry, and fought with a three-inch bundle of developing cells over blood intake from the plasma bag.

She left the fake Madame Zeroni’s Curio shop disgusted and a hundred dollars broker.

Her homegirl Mercy texted the name of a woman who quietly practiced Hoodoo on her phone. Mercy believed everything Celeste told her because she had been there from jump, and without judgment, guided her to another root of the African diaspora tree.

Celeste lifted her foot onto the first creaky step of the shotgun house and the front door on the left opened. Behind the screen door she made out the face of a man with the skin-color of dark tobacco leaves.

“Yeah?” he said in a gruff tone.

Celeste glanced at the door on the right, which was her destination. She ignored the man and knocked on the glass window on the upper half of the wooden door. The neighbor opened his screen and stepped out.

“You sure you here to see her?” the man asked.

Without a screen barrier, his face looked younger and more handsome, his short locs pointing every which-way on his head like tiny black antennas. The front door on the right opened and a pretty, dark brown-skinned woman stuck her head out.

“Mind ya business, Bertrand. She ain’t here to see you.”

“Lynn?” Celeste asked.

“It’s me,” Lynn said.

She opened her door wider and glanced back at her neighbor.

“Come on inside before anymore noisy birds stick they heads out,” Lynn said.

Celeste stepped over the threshold and passed Lynn to get inside.

“Good Lord, gal, you got a head full of hair on you! How long you been growing it?”

Celeste touched her heavy and long bongo locs that fell down to her waist.

“Ten years now. Since I was a teenager.”

“So thick and pretty. Betcha when you go swimming it’s like fighting with an octopus, huh?”

Celeste grinned.

Lynn was much younger than she expected. Late twenties, maybe early thirties. Out in the parish swamps, there was no telling how old melanated folks could be.

“Come on back here into my kitchen,” Lynn said.

Celeste waited for her to lead the way and they walked past two rooms straight to the neat kitchen.

“Hungry?” Lynn asked. “Got some beans and rice on the stove. Frying up some pork chops, too. Go ‘head and sit at the table.”

Celeste took a seat at a small table with a pink plastic covering. The savory odor of red beans and seasoned, fried meat made her mouth water. Her stomach grumbled.

“Oh, yeah, you hungry. I’ma fix you a plate.”

“Please, don’t go to any trouble for me.”

“Ain’t no trouble. Got plenty. I made extra for you, anyway. Pregnant women gotta eat good.”

Celeste stared at the woman. She wasn’t even showing yet and never mentioned being pregnant over their phone call consultation. Did Mercy tell her?

“Don’t get spooked, Celeste. I work as a mid-wife. I can smell a pregnant woman a mile away. Relax.”

Celeste watched the young Hoodoo woman fix a big plate of string beans, red beans & rice and a thick cut of pork chop fried to golden brown perfection. She plopped it down in front of Celeste and fixed herself a plate, too. Her close-cropped brown hair had a cute undercut, and both her ears had at least seven small gold hoops pierced through them. She wore an off-the-shoulder white t-shirt and booty shorts for the heat. Her eyes were small for her face and were the only thing on her that looked mature. Had she not known any better, Celeste would’ve thought she was chatting with a senior in high school.

Lynn sat down across from her and held out her hand toward Celeste.

“I like to say grace over my meals,” Lynn said.

Celeste clasped her hand, and a charge of energy seeped into her palm from Lynn. She closed her eyes as Lynn said a short, heartfelt prayer, then lifted a half loaf of Wonder Bread from her table. She unfastened it and handed Celeste two pieces.

“Ooh, wait, I forgot some libations.”

Lynn jumped up and brought back a large glass pitcher of fresh lemonade. She grabbed two plastic cups and poured them each a good fill.

“I don’t have no ice cubes for it, sorry,” Lynn said.

Celeste sipped and the sweet/tart taste was delicious and cold enough. Both women ate quietly for a few minutes, and after Celeste’s third bite of her pork chop, Lynn stared at her directly with fierce chocolate eyes.

“Did you bring the things I asked for?”

Celeste nodded and pulled out a bundle from her purse and slid it to Lynn.

“I got some hair from a brush he used at my place, and summa his semen. We made love the last time I saw him and he wiped himself with a washrag and threw it in my dirty clothes hamper.”

“Semen is good. Anything liquid from the body is good,” Lynn said, collecting the items that Celeste stuffed in a little sandwich baggie.

“Tell me everything about this man you’re looking for. From the beginning,” Lynn said. “In order for me to make a root powerful enough to find him and bring him back, I gotta know every detail.”

Those chocolate eyes stayed intense.

Celeste fought the urge to sip on the blood in her purse and took another healthy swig of lemonade from her cup before she told the tale, from top to bottom, of how Terry Richmond, a whole ass vampire, seduced her out of her panties, stole her heart, bit her, then left her with something growing in her belly that she was afraid of…

A.N.:

Reminder, this long fic is dropping All Hallow's Eve at Midnight! Comment below if you want to be tagged for a sexy, supernatural treat at the end of the month!

Tag List Thus Far:

@nahimjustfeeling-writes

@planetblaque

@kindofaintrovert

@thedondada05

@blackburnbook

@avoidthings

@slutsareteacherstoo

@nayaesworld

@notapradagurl17

@4pfsukuna

@yamst3rdamctrl

@sweettea-and-honeybutter

#rebel ridge fanfiction #Terry Richmond Fanfiction #Black Vampire #Black Supernatural AU #Terry Richmond AU #halloween fic #Uzumaki Rebellion #Uzumaki Rebellion Writes #Dropping October 30th at ten to Midnight #2024

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simplyzeeka · 4 months ago

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Episode 1. Season 1 (Pilot)

The Big Bang

Come follow me to luxury

Gold on the floors

And all over me

Warnings: MDNI!! Profanity, mentions of violence, adult themes, use of the n-word, use of the b-word, themes of infidelity

Summary: Not every princess lived in a castle. Terry learns this when he meets what he considers a celestial being in the dirtiest of places. Too enamored, he forgets about all his spoken promises to another.

"AND ACTION" 🎬

There's always a comfort that comes with having options, especially if every option benefits you. It didn't matter how miniscule the situation may be, having options just made it all the better.

A man like Terry was one that believed options to be a luxury. He wished he had that luxury when life struck a butcher knife to his heart and ordered him to walk like it didn't hurt. Maybe then, if he had options, he would've picked a butter knife instead. And maybe then, he wouldn't have needed to experience hell or high waters.

So it's understandable that he felt a tinge of discomfort when that luxury was taken away from him, maybe a little irritated. Here he stood, with two of his friends (dumb friends, might he add), first in line to enter what he would describe as the dingiest strip clubs he has ever seen, not that he’s seen many. Now, Terry has been in worse predicaments than this, he's been in places that looked way more… unsightly than this.

It was just the subtle air, a foreboding feeling that washes over him as he looked at the club doors, that made him think that he could have spent his bachelor party at home instead, by himself. Nothing appealing came from watching strippers dancing anyway… for him at least.

“So you tellin’ me you couldn't have picked a less shady place? Looks like it's bout to rain bullets here.”

Or maybe he was just paranoid. Three years of therapy could only do as much as you let it, and Terrence Richmond? Well, he didn't let it do much for him.

“I just wanna see some ass shake man, all them fancy strip clubs have the bitches with no ass. They not even pretty in the face.” Rome exaggerated, chewing the gun in his mouth so loudly, Terry had the right mind to knock him out.

“Nigga, you dense as fuck. This that shit that got you that STD.” Yosohn shook his head as he schooled Rome, not that Rome was open to listening.

Terry met Rome and Yosohn a year after moving to Georgia. Rome being the big mouth he was, got a little mouthy with Terry and almost got knocked out clean. Yosohn spoke on behalf of his friend, then weirdly, they became friends. Although they weren't the type of company he would normally surround himself with, they were great distractions when life didn't seem worth living. Them and his fiancé.

“Man, I ain't ever telling you shit. This why Ronda left yo ass. Let's get inside before I crash out on you, blowing my high.”

Yeah, amazing distractions.

It smelled better than expected really. While Terry expected a cacosmic mixture of perfumes, sweat and vomit. It smelled like sweet cherry liquor, only a little bit of sweat and it seemed every woman here used the same perfume because it smelled all the same to him.

The interior of the club was very… busy. Not a shocking resolution, it was a strip club. Just a little uncomfortable, the three men had to bump, push and wedge between drunk bodies to get to the small booth Rome booked.

“Man, look at all this. Tell me you don't want that Terry.” Rome tilted his head downwards as one girl, seemingly a dancer, walked past him. Terry just gives Rome a blank look, “You don't ever get tired of talkin’?”

Yosohn's shoulders shook, head thrown downwards. Rome was clearly the most talkative out of all three, and while Yosohn matched his energy sometimes, it got a little unbearable at times. But what made him laugh was how he shut up as Terry spoke to him, until this day, Rome doesn't dare cross a line with the large man.

“Fuck you laughin’ at? Bald-headed motherfucker. Yo beard patchy as fuck, go take some Minoxidil.” Terry couldn't help but laugh at that. Their banter is always something worth watching.

Raunchy music dripped from the speakers as dancers performed praise-worthy tricks on the poles at the main stage. With hands digging deep into his pockets, he bopped his head to the catchy beat of the music. Not his usual taste, but anything was better than standing there looking awkward.

Rome had long disappeared, Terry wasn't sure if it was the bar he went to, or perhaps he followed behind a dancer. “Let's get you a drink man, can't even act like you enjoying yourself.” Yosohn shook his head at how sad the man looked. “It's cause I'm not.” Terry retorted with a small chuckle, the first he's given since being away from his fiancé.

Alas after a few drinks, Terry has let a little loose. His teeth were on display more, his shoulders slack and his hands out of his pockets.

There were a few girls in the booth with them, Terry didn't care to entertain either of them though. Courtesy of the club, they sent them a bottle with knowledge of the occasion, and of course, that was thanks to Rome.

The DJ kept announcing the arrival of dancers on stage for solo performances. All which had patrons screaming and throwing money on the stage, painting it green with Benjamins. Clearly this was a generous crowd.

It wasn't until the music changed into something slow and sensual that his attention perked towards the stage. The lights have changed to warm,dim, orange, then queued the DJ. “Aight, y'all already know what time it is. Let's get into some slow seduction with one of your favourites… Indigo.”

Except this time the crowd was quiet. Not a single scream, just sublime silence. “Yo, what's this wack ass shit? We don't wanna hear this slow shit.” Silence that Rome had no problem breaking.

Terry couldn't help but internally agree, because this was a strip club. There was a specific aesthetic that strip clubs had, and slow wasn't one of them. The crowd wasn't silent in boredom though, they were attentive, staring directly at the stage. He notices how not a single phone was out, just wide eyes and anticipating smiles.

He wondered why until he registered the soft melody of Victoria Monét's “Big Boss” playing through the speakers, and there was Indigo.

A hand on the pole as she walked around it, before climbing up. A gold set was on her, glitter stuck to her skin. Just as the song recited. She resonated a bright star as she twirled on the pole with skill.

Her black tresses flowed around her in controlled movements. Her movements weren't as sharp, quick or as ‘sexy’ as the other dancers. Her movements were smooth, sensual and hypnotising. She didn't let the pole control her, instead the pole gave her every command and she obliged willingly.

Indigo wasn't dancing to seduce. She danced to engage, to captivate. She captured more than just her audience's eyes, she captured their hearts and their minds. She commanded everyone to silence. The small smile on her face as she danced made her all the more ethereal, there was no way on this damned earth that a beauty like that existed. Not when mundane people like himself existed. Was it possible to co-exist with such an entity? That much was unbeknownst to Terry.

She had taken so much of his attention, that he did not notice when her set was over. The party was back up again once everyone regained their composure, everyone except him because his friends had to shake him out of his trance.

“Yo Terry, you good bro? This nigga gone.” Yosohn laughed at Terry, but truthfully, he understood him. Indigo was a beauty yet to be reckoned with. It took him a while to shake out of it after watching the dancer perform.

“Now that's the kind of hoe you turn into a housewife.” Rome comments, still glancing at where Indigo had exited the stage.

“Aye Rome, Terry gone bruh.” Yosohn doubled over as he took a short video of Terry. Rome reached over and slightly smacked the big man out of it. And immediately, old Terry was back to mugging and grunting.

“Don't get fucked up.” He muttered to Rome, before glancing back to the stage again. “Oh hell no, bring her back on stage. Big ass attitude. I hope Amber cheating on yo ass.”

A drunk Yosohn was sliding off the sofa in laughter. Terry smacks his teeth before taking a sip of his whiskey. His mind was racing, eyes twitching as his leg began bouncing. He needed another fix of seeing Indigo and suddenly he understood the crowd, the silence. The need to capture that moment in its entirety, because Terry thought it was short… too short. *She just got on stage.*

“Who was that?” He asked, nobody in particular, as long as he would get an answer, he didn't care who it came from. “That's Indigo, she been dancing here for a couple years. Pretty as fuck, as you see. I think her-” Yosohn answers before Rome interrupts. “And greedy as fuck too, you forgot to add that.” Yosohn rolls his eyes, “She rejected him, don't mind him. Anyway, think her real name Senia or some shit like that.”

Terry hums, eyebrows twitching subtly. Now his mind was treading on dangerous territory, wanting to know how he could get to see her again, right now. “She do private dances?”

The mere question has Rome and Yosohn shocked. Terrence Richmond had lost all sense of composure at that moment, that he didn't care much about looking a little too invested.

“Huh? You tryna fuck up before your wedding day? Yeah no, let's bounce.” Yosohn shook his head, being the angel on Terry's one shoulder, and of course, Rome would play devil's advocate. “Bro what? Stop being lame, it's his last day single, one lil dance not gon hurt. Amber probably doin’ the same shit.” Rome waved his hand in dismissal. “He's not single dumb ass nigga.”

The two continued going back and forth, they didn't even notice Terry getting up. “Hey man, I was wondering if I could get a private dance.” He questioned the bouncer who stood near velvet curtains. The bouncer mugs Terry, “Nigga, do I look like a stripper to you? Fuck you asking me for?”

Terry sighs, how the fuck was he supposed to know who and what to ask. His thick brows furrow and his lips curl downwards before looking around. The bouncer sighs, the man was clearly new to this.

“Who you lookin’ for?” His ears perk, head whips in the bouncer's direction. Wasn't even the slightest bit embarrassed in his pursuit of finding her. “Indigo.”

The bouncer nodded with a hum, his request was very much understandable. Sticking his head in the curtains, he yells the stripper’s name. It wasn't long until she appeared again that Terry felt his heart skip a beat. The stage did not do her any justice, because even now under dim lights that made it hard to see, Indigo still looked jaw-dropping. “What’s up Nyx, who is this?”

Her southern accent was thick, the drawl did something to his chest that had him wondering if he had a heart condition. “He askin’ for a dance, baby.”

The dark-skinned beauty raised a perfectly trimmed brow in Terry’s direction. “Oh is that right?” she asked the man himself, and the smile on her face was enough to send him into cardiac arrest. “Yes ma’am.” Terry retorts with a smile of his own, close-lipped and gentle.

Eyes glazing across her features, Indigo laughs at his politeness. It wasn’t often she met someone as polite as him when asking for a dance. “It’s gon’ cost you.”, a declaration. Terry found that wooing more than anything, “That’s fine. I’m willing.”

They stare at one another for a while, while Indigo seemed to be sizing him up, Terry was tracing her face, pocketing the memory in a place where everything felt nostalgic, because Terry couldn't help but feel something familiar about her. A feeling he shook off because now he sounded stupid.

Indigo hums, that was also a response she didn’t hear often, but she wouldn’t dare complain. “I’ll keep that in mind, c’mon baby.”

"AND CUT" 🎬

Note: Not as long as I would have liked, but I also beat a record... so win some lose some?

Yosohn pronounced. Yo-shawn. I'm extra...

This will be an angsty series revolving around uncomfortable matters. Infidelity. Like I said in my last post, I do not condone it, and neither should anyone.

This is purely fiction.

Hope you enjoy this, I'm honestly really invested. That playlist I made is really doing what it's supposed to.

Playlist here if you're interested. Hope you enjoyed the first part.

Next episode

#Spotify #terry richmond #terry richmond fic #terry richmond fanfiction #terry richmond x oc #terry richmond x black oc #black female oc #black women #terry richmond angst #aaron pierre

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tvchi · 3 months ago

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Veiled Intentions: The Hunt, Prt 2

Disclaimers: DO NOT COPY OR REPOST MY WORK. DO NOT TRAIN AI WITH MY WORK.

Warnings: Mature Audiences ONLY: 18+, Minors DNI- Allusion to sexual intercourse, Profanity

Pairing: black male x black female Words: 3,642k

A/N: Here is Part 2 of this series. I'm really going to try to work on getting these parts out at least once a week. Again, don't hold me to that because life be lifing!!! This part is very logistical and technical. If crime, espionage, and cerebral thrillers aren't your thing, I understand. Please scroll. While you may need these details to understand some of the premises of the story and what may happen later on, you will probably pick up on things later on.

Summary: Y/N tries to regain her composure while meeting Terry. Amused, Terry throws a wrench in her plans while running into someone who could be the key to this entire case. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rendered speechless, you look around, trying to gain your composure and decide whether you will play along. Your heart fluttered in reaction to his gaze and the warmth that emanated from his presence. Usually, you were a lioness strolling fearlessly through a den of vipers. But today, you were as timid as a fawn as his eyes roamed your body. Your brain screamed for you to say something before this became a noticeable and awkward pause. If acting like he didn't meet you at the museum was his direction, then that's the direction this would take. After all, you just bumped into each other, and you never got his name or anything else.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Y/N Olisa." He smiled brightly at your response while you wondered whether you should have come clean to Director Moore about your encounter. You sat down at the only empty chair in the room to the left of Director Moore's desk.

"Now that you two know each other, Olisa, I need you to brief us on what you have found on the case so far and start from the beginning so that we can get ASAC Richmond up to speed."

"Right," you started, trying to gain the resolve to forget the set of grey-blue peering at you from the right. "Well, for the past three months, I have been in the field working with other operatives on Operation Green Ledger, investigating large-scale money laundering within a network of shell companies designed to conceal stolen wealth accumulated through drug trafficking and high-priced art.

We believe that a group called the Ghost Syndicate has been partnering with art powerhouse Elysian Art Consortium (EAC) to smuggle drugs within the art purchased by some of the major gangs and cartels here in the US Several silent auctions disguised as showcases have been happening. In the area more than usual.

In 2021, Harborview Heights was home to only three art museums. Its population is about 600,000, and its average income per household is $60,000. In 2024, the number of art museums and showcases doubled even though the population has only increased by 50,000 and its average income per household, adjusted for inflation, is about $70,000."

"That's not nearly enough money to buy and sell art at that rate," Terry chimed incredulously.

"Exactly. We noticed that this was happening in more than just Harborview. It's happening in Pinehurst, Kingston Circle, and Cedarwood. These surrounding towns are only maybe within a 60-mile radius of each other. So we started looking into the interwebs to see if there was any chatter about any new players in town. After weeks of searching, SA Donovan intercepted a series of encrypted communications between the CEO of EAC and a buyer by the name of Muammar Gadaffi."

“The Muammar Muhammad Abu Minyar al-Gadaffi?” Terry asked with a raised eyebrow.

"That's the one"

"Hmm"

"Right. As I asked some of my contacts in the CIA, they assured me there has not been any chatter from that family and anyone from the US in years, especially not in art or stolen artifacts."

"SA Donovan got me into one of these showcases that our CEO talked about with the cover, Alana Thomas. While there, I noticed that most people on the guest list weren't even Harborview residents. In fact, most of them flew in from out of the country. I made a contact that night, posing as an art enthusiast and buyer for an affluent family. I asked about how to bid on pieces and when they had auctions.

"The contact let it slip that the event I was attending was, in fact, a silent auction for some of the pieces but that he didn't think I would be interested in this month's pieces and to come back next month. Then some other operative bugged the place, posing as museum patrons, chaperones for field trips, etc." I continued.

"We are hoping that Olisa's Mark would provide fruitful information given his status in the EAC. It has been five grueling months, and more bids have taken place without knowing much about how to even receive a formal invite to bid. The invitations are heavily encrypted. Apparently, the designer used to be one of our own," Director Moore let out in frustration.

"Well, I've been formally invited as a plus one to the silent auction in two weeks. I seemed to impress one of the higher-ups at a company party last week. Adrian, my Mark, is curating the event and handling the guest list. I sent a copy over. So far, more than half of those people are major players in cartels worldwide. I am close to getting a handle on how first contact is made between the art dealers for EAC and the buyers. The key encryption on their computers changes every 18 hours."

Terry nods slowly, lips pursed in contemplation. His breathing slows, eyes trained on you as if he anticipated your next words. Your eyes go down to his big hands. They were strong and defined. The slight calluses on his fingertips and various small, healing scars on his knuckles told you he wasn't just pushing papers in his office. His fingernails were neatly trimmed and clean, tapping the arms of the seat he occupied. He stopped tapping when he noticed that you stopped speaking and were staring at his hands. You cleared your throat to relieve the tension that was building up in your chest.

"I'm assuming you are here with information about increased activity from the cartels," you said.

"No. I'm here because we need to wrap this up as quickly as possible. There's something big coming up the pipeline and we will need all hands on deck. We are asking everyone to clear their desks. The timeline is four months."

You laugh. "It took three to get an invite and look at the guest list. This is grade-A cyber encryption. There's no way we can wrap this in four months!" You look at Director Moore, eyes wide, and plead for help.

"Olisa, ASAC Richmond will help you in this endeavor. We know that you are making some headway, but we are going to need all the help we can get if we are to meet the deadline. Please share the rest of your intel and show him around."

"From operative to babysitter and secretary. My how the 'best and brightest' have fallen." Terry chuckles as he peers at you intently.

"And when you're done being a smart ass, make sure he has a copy of the case files."

You purse your lips in annoyance and then pull them into a tightly lined smile.

"Yessir," you say. You turn to Terry, sitting in the chair, legs agape and elbows pressed against the arms of the seat. Your eyes were drawn to how muscular his legs were. Even underneath those suit pants, you could tell that he was well-toned. Quickly reverting your eyes to his face, you said, "Follow Me."

He rose from his seat, his build towering your frame. You two left the director's office and headed down the stairs. You started introducing him to everyone you passed by name, title, and what role they played in the case.

He greeted every last one with a congenial, dashing smile that reached his eyes and a "nice to meet you" or an "I'll try not to bother you too much, I promise." Once you finished introducing him to Brooke and apologizing for her lewd remarks, you stopped by the office with his placard beside the door you spotted while you were walking him over to Brooke.

"And this is you. SA Hilt will be coming over shortly with a copy of those case files you wanted, and if you need anything else, SA Donovan will be more than happy to assist you," you concluded, turning to face the door.

"What if I want you to assist me?" he asked sharply.

"Excuse me?" you replied, half-turned.

"You told me about everyone else you're pawning me off to. But what if I need you?" That flash of grey seized you once more, threatening to hold you hostage until an acceptable answer shot up from your mouth.

"I'm not sure in what situation you would need me."

"I can think of a couple of situations," he said mischievously. With your brow furrowing from his surprising lewdness, you turned around fully to face him.

"From my understanding, we are attacking this from different angles. I'm supposed to stay with the Mark and I supposed you'd be posing as one of the buyers. Until the last 48 hours leading up to the auction, I'm not sure why you would need me."

"Well, for one," he started, folding his arms across his chest, "it seems like you know this case inside out and have been working this case since day one. Something stored in you may be the key to how we can get it; you just can't place it yet. Not sure how much you know about me," he stood and strolled towards you, eyes fixed on yours, "but I've been told that I'm pretty good at getting things that I want." Your body quivered at the heat of his gaze.

"So advancing on operatives in the field, then showing up at their site pretending not to know them is how you get what you want?" you asked heatedly. The corners of his lips curled.

"Well, actually, this is our first time being introduced. You marched off before I could tell you my name." His reply was swift, as though he anticipated the question. You assessed him, still trying to figure out his angle.

"As I said, the other operatives will be here with you. I'm mostly in the field. I was here to collect some things before reporting to my post as assistant professor." He looked at you intently for a moment. Then, his demeanor changed to that of indifference.

"I'll walk you out."

"No need. Besides, I'm the one that knows my way around."

"Are things always this difficult with you?"

"Difficult," you said with a raised brow bordering on annoyance.

"Yes. Difficult," he repeated.

"I'm not sure what you mean, sir, but the only difficult thing about me at this present moment is the energy I would need to conjure to deal with an outsider coming into an investigation I spent months on and asking me not only to speed up my timeline but also calling me 'difficult' in the process," you replied poignantly. As you finished, he looked at you rather amused. "Is something funny?"

He turned and walked behind his desk. Looking at the files on his desk and shuffling them around, he said, "Yeah, but I don't think HR would share my sense of humor. I'll keep it to myself, but I think I'm changing my opinion on 'difficult.' You wear it well."

His eyes hadn't left his desk once. Your face stalled, not knowing if you preferred the heat of his gaze or the coldness of his nonchalance wrapped in a sultry yet suggestive tone. "I guess I'll just find you. Thank you, SA Olisa."

The finality in his tone urged you to move towards the door and out of his office. You weren't sure what was happening, but you needed to get a hold of yourself to see if you were going to last the next three months under this man.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

TERRY

I watched her walk through the glass doors of the empty office, her curvy frame gliding down the hall. I never thought I would see her again let alone standing in Director Moore's Box. If I'm anything, it's intrigued.

I wanted to know her story, how she wound up here, how she could dissociate from her marks after an assignment was over, why this case meant so much to her, or why she couldn't look me in the eyes for more than three seconds at a time. I wondered whether the latter was partly because she felt that same rush of electricity I felt when we touched yesterday.

I pushed thoughts of Y/N aside as I began to look at the files in this case. A lot was riding on this, and I needed to give this all of my attention. A knock came to the door.

"Come in," I said without looking up.

"Would you like anything for lunch, sir? A couple of us are ordering." SA Brooke Donovan said with a bright smile.

"It's lunch already? I didn't realize."

"Well, technically, it's 2:00. But we just now decided on where everyone wanted to eat from."

I chuckled. "Okay, then I'll have whatever you're having."

"Okaaaaaaay, Sir," she replied with a bright, spirited smile." Whatever you want."

I chuckled. Brooke was definitely the one who brought light to everyone's dark days. I am also well aware of my effect on people, especially women.

I worked through lunch and almost dinner reviewing the case files, looking for anything that was missed that could be a potential angle to work while everyone went through the other obvious roads. I even set up a case board inside my office to track all the information I gathered.

We needed to attack all fronts, but no one was posing as the transport. No delineation of the route taken to deliver the product since only the supplier knew where the product was stored. That would be the critical area of interception.

Another angle would be forcing a route change by making all parties involved aware that they were being watched. As I pondered these notions, my stomach growled. Heeding that warning, I stood up, packed my things, and headed out of the office in search of food.

Out of the Box and walking out of the campus's main library, I smelled her before I saw her.

Her long, toned legs walked down the aisle, a book in one hand and a cup in the other. The heels she wore made her calves and ass look like every man's dream. Her skirt fit snugly around her curves, stopping just below her knees. Her bell-sleeved blouse had a keyhole slit in the back that revealed her warm, mahogany skin. I watched her for a minute, moving to a desk in the corner of the library next to another self of books.

She moved intently, searching while removing several books and stacking them in her arms. Everything she did was poetic. The way she moved her locs out of her face, the way she placed the books she wasn't going to take with a single push of her index finger, the way she tilted her head upward as if making a mental note to revisit a topic later, all of it made me wonder.

I wondered what she thought about when no one required her to think about anything, what frightened her, what her favorite restaurant was, and what made her toes curl in heated passion. I haven't had a chance to contemplate hoisting a woman up by her legs and to drink from her well in a long while. Come to think of it, too long. Looking at her now, passions I forgot were there slowly rose, forming a tent in my slacks.

She placed them down on the counter at the front, where she exchanged pleasantries with the librarian, after which the librarian scanned the books and tucked them away underneath the counter. She strode to the front, and my feet followed, drawn.

When I finally reached the door, she was down the steps where some light-skinned dude was waiting on her. They embraced, and his hands trailed down to her lower back, then her ass, as he kissed her. A fire lit in my chest, my eyes glued to his hands. Then he opened the door to the car and let her climb inside.

As he shut the door, he turned and seemed to look at me. Still far off from the tall steps, I'm not sure how much he saw of my face, but pride settled into my feet like lead and wouldn't permit me to move. We stared briefly at each other, and I watched him walk to the driver's seat and drive off.

I'm not sure what is drawing me to this woman or what about her makes me want to break every finger on that man's hands for touching her, but I knew that the timeline on this case had just moved up.

I spent the next few days between the Box and my rental, visiting all the different sites of the case. I felt at home on the road because it allowed me to think out loud, from the most far-fetched ideas to the safest ones.

It also let me think about what I would do about my obvious attraction to Y/N. She's been running through my head lately, especially about how committed she is to her cover and the Mark. From how things looked the other night, he's familiar with her in ways that made me seeth wrathfully. While there was absolutely no place for an office romance, my body yearned for the weight and warmth of her. Whatever small disdain she has for me and my orders should deter me. Yet it does nothing but make me wonder what she sounds like, shouting expletives as I fill her with my girth.

God knows I love a good brat. He also knows I'm tired of going from home to home with no intent of lying my head in any one place. Not feeling safe enough to believe that I can have something permanent. Something good. Something that would stay with me as I aged.

Many of my cohorts share this sentiment, but some strive for 'happily ever after' anyhow. I then started to wonder what 'happily ever after' would look like for me. Who would be sitting beside me? Who would be in the back seat? What would home look like? What would it smell like? The last question or thought crashed into me with a strong wave. Would it quiet my mind if I gained all these things, and would the nightmares go away?

Quickly unlocking the safe of my mind and placing those intricate thoughts back in their place, I parked at the library's side entrance. I hopped out of the Mustang, grabbing my briefcase from the passenger's side. I made my way towards the steps.

"Excuse me," I heard. I turned slightly and saw him. "I was wondering if you worked here."

I studied him carefully, trying to decipher whether his question was rhetorical or genuine. When I didn't answer, he continued to speak.

"I've never seen you before, so I was wondering whether you worked here."

"Lots of people come through here. It is a university."

"Yea. That's true. It is a university. But most new people tend to be students, and it's heading towards the end of the semester. I also used to go here, and I know most of the people who work in this building. I've never seen your face before." That piqued your interest even further. There was little doubt that he had seen your face, or most of it, the other night.

"Well outside of the fact that there are over 300 graduate school programs, other agencies and programs utilize the university's libraries of work or research and are allowed day passes for a small fee. But you went here, so you knew that. So unless you work security around here or a cop, I'm unsure what you want from me."

"A grad student can afford a whip like that?" He whistled as his eyes ran the length of my car. "You must be paying tuition out-of-pocket."

I looked at my watch in feigned annoyance. "I'm late, so do you have a question for me, Officer?"

"Oh, I'm not a cop."

"No?" he moved closer to him, "You move like one."

His eyes never left mine as he spoke calmly. "Nah. I'm not a cop. I just have something precious inside. There's a lot of history there. Its beauty was meant to be displayed for all to see, but that doesn't mean that there aren't people looking to possess it for themselves."

"Okay, now I'm confused. Are you in security or art history?" I said sarcastically. I wanted to know how deep his obsession with Y/N ran and what lengths he would go to keep her.

He chuckled with an air of arrogance. "You can say it's a bit of both. I've always been fascinated by how curators can showcase the most priceless pieces of human history while being confident that no one will walk out the front door with them. By the way, I didn't catch your name."

"That's because I didn't throw it. Do you stop everyone you don't recognize coming into the building or just the ones built like me?"

"Only the ones with that look in their eye," he said, almost sneering.

"Hmm. Not just what that look is."

"You know, the one that longs for more. For something they can't have"

"Oh, that one. Well, I've never had to steal anything. I either earned it or paid for it."

"Is that right"

"Yes. That's right. Oh, and I think that curators rest in knowing that their pieces are insured and protected by the police force. This is a pretty safe campus in a properly policed city. Unless…”

"Unless?"

"Unless, somehow, your valuable item has free will and can choose to walk out with whoever it chooses to. I really am late. It was very…interesting meeting you," I said with a slight grin and trotted up the steps with gleeful ease, knowing that the game clock had officially started.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Check out Part 1 if you haven't already! Please hit the comments with your feedback, give suggestions on what you'd like to see, and let me know who you like and don't. Talk TO ME!!! Part 3 coming soon.

Tags: @thecapodomme @writers-of-tmblr @melaninpov @spaceslutsworld @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @mymusicbias @the-black-label @master-builder42 @miraculously-dumb-bitch @megamindsecretlair @hopefulromantic1 @tranquilfandomer @thadelightfulone @vivalaorgasm @hotgrlcece @planetblaque @blackgurlnhermoods @andriaharris @theblacklewinsky @kumkaniudaku @lovelyflames @girlbeblogging @toiadeenovels @longpause-awkwardsmile @sweettea-and-honeybutter @sirenmouths @almostelectroniccheesecake @liquorlaughslove @meleekabenjamin @19jammmy @thoseprettywords @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @stellarxfresh

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felonytaxevasion · 12 days ago

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“It would be a grave disappointment if she were to figure out the particulars of that work and share it out at a lower cost, until it became common,” Everard said. “We’d hoped for her to be special,” Adelaide said. “Enough to draw attention. Baron Richmond won’t be on this end of the Crown States forever. He’s a bachelor, keeping the company of his twin sisters. We need our daughter back in time to get her cleaned up and presentable, and we need it done with discretion.”

I can already tell this is going to be an all timer

Immortal rich girl forced to be an experiment to immortality and sold to a brutal torture artist for her parents own goals of nobility runs away and become freaky goth girl

Close enough! Welcome back Pre Mitosis Thorburn!!!!

#twig posting

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richmondcarpet · 4 months ago

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#Carpet Cleaning #Carpet and Rug Cleaners #Cleaning Services #Carpet Steam Cleaning #Eco-Friendly Green Cleaning

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crimson-calligraphyx · 2 years ago

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2: What Do You Want From Me?

Sometime later in the night, I had sidled up next to Noah as we continued to drink. I had learned a couple things about him; he grew up here in Richmond and is an aspiring musician having formed a band. I figured out what he had been writing were lyrics, though I respected his privacy and didn't try to read what he had on his page.

I spin the nearly empty pint glass between my fingers, glancing over at Vic who had been fluttering around behind the bar. It's been a steady night for her, and now that it was getting later, most of the crowd was funneling out, allowing her to finally start to clean up a bit. I watched her stuff as many glasses she could in the dish washer, slamming it shut as steam billowed out from it.

I figured it was about time for me to go, noting that the clock above her was nearing midnight. Standing, I pulled a few bills from my wallet to cover my tab and then some. "Headed out?" Victoria calls out, focusing on polishing the liquor bottles she had been slinging around all night. I nod, even though I knew she wasn't looking at me. "Yeah, I figure I'd get out of your hair and head on home." She finally looks my way, a small smile on her lips. "Alrighty. Walk safe, let me know when you get home." "Thanks Vic, I will," I say, slipping into my jacket and hoisting my purse over my shoulder.

I push the front door of the bar open, a suctioned gust of wind slapping me in the face. Stepping out, I wrap my jacket tighter to my body in attempt to block out the brisk air. Thankfully it was only about a fifteen-minute walk back to my apartment.

"Hey, wait," I hear a low, velvety voice call from behind me. Only making it a few feet from the building, I turn around thinking I had left something behind, and a patron was kind enough to run out whatever said thing was. I was met with the same gentle upturn of Noah's lips as his slim body made its way towards me. I scrunched my brows in confusion. "I know we don't really know each other, but—" he shrugged sheepishly, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. "I figured you'd like some company. It's late and you never know..." he trailed off. I put two and two together, my own minuscule smile forming on my face from the kind gesture. "Right. Thanks, but I'm okay. I live not too far from here," I say as politely as I could, beginning to turn on my heel, back the way I was headed. "It's the least I could do. You kept me company and bought me a drink." "How do I know that you're not gonna drag me down an alleyway?" I cock an eyebrow at him, holding back the snicker I could feel forming in my throat.

I watch his face fall, almost pained that I would nab him as a predator. He nods his head slightly, starting to turn back to the bar, defeated. I let the chuckle out. "I'm kidding, Noah. That would be very kind of you." He lets out a bashful breath, scratching the back of his head, an inkling of a smile forming on his face again. He closes the gap between us as I turn back around, resuming the trek towards my home. We walk in silence for a decent amount of time. Oddly enough, it was a seemingly comfortable silence. He gave enough distance between us where he wasn't brushing up against me, respecting my boundaries. Which was a relief—as nice as he seemed, I still didn't know him. Why he felt compelled to walk me home, I wasn't really sure.

What do you want from me?

"So," I start, clearing my throat. "You said you grew up here?" I turn my attention to him. I watch as he nods, glancing over at me and responds with 'mmm'. "I'm shocked I haven't seen you around here before. I've been visiting Vic at the bar for years," I reply, thumbing over my shoulder in the bar's direction. He chuckles. "Yeah, I only started going there recently on weekdays. Weekends are too loud to focus." I bob my head in understanding. "Plus, we just got back from a small tour not too long ago."

We continued to make small talk as we neared my apartment complex. He asked me if I was still going to school, which rolled into the topic of what I did for work. To keep it simple, I told him my job title was a "Route Supervisor" for the DPW, which basically meant I had to make sure everyone was where they needed to be at any given time. He seemed to understand what I had summed up, asking me why I was up so late if I had to work early in the morning. Smart fella.

Not wanting to dampen the mood with my personal shit, I told him that I had extra vacation time that I needed to take by the end of the year. In reality, I needed a break. A mental break. Between the shit with my ex, my father being sick, and the newbies having a hard time settling in, it was a lot. I wasn't fully lying; I did have vacation time that should be used up, but it rolls over into the next year. Anyway, he didn't need to know that tidbit of unnecessary information.

We eventually reach the front of my apartment complex. Heading up the walkway to the door, I fish my keys out of my purse. "Well, uh... Thanks for joining me on the walk home," I say while looking up at him. It was then I realized just how tall he was, standing nearly a head taller than me. "Yeah, not a problem." He grins, his eyes crinkling slightly at the outer corners. I return the smile, beginning to turn towards the door when he catches my attention again. "Hey, I never caught your name." I bring myself to face him fully once more, a giggle slipping past my lips. "You're right, my bad. Olivia," I say, sticking my hand out. "Or Liv, whichever you prefer." His large hand engulfs mine in a firm grasp, exchanging a shake momentarily. "Nice to meet you, Liv. I'm Noah," he says with humor lacing his voice. "Pleasure to meet you, too," I chuckle, glancing down at our connected hands.

I take note of the ink he had; some sort of calligraphy on his knuckles that I couldn't quite make out at first glance, and an animal—a goat? Lamb? Either way, I couldn't help but to wonder what else he had etched into his arms as my eyes trailed over his skin. I mentally shake my head, stopping myself from involuntarily pulling his sleeve up in curiosity. I take my hand back, smiling up at him, "Have a nice night, Noah." He gives me a small wave. "See you around," he says as he turns to make his exit.

As I settled into bed, the only thing I could find myself thinking about was Noah. The way his hair cascaded over his shoulders and framed his face slightly, the supple tone in his voice, his timid mannerisms. His random act of kindness in walking me home, the warm smile he continuously flashed throughout the night, the lyrics he had scribbled on his notebook...

And most importantly, I wondered if his tattoos had any supposed 'color' to them.

|Chapter 3|

#noah sebastian #bad omens #bad omens band #fanfic #fan fiction #fantasy #romance #fluff

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richmondsims · 11 months ago

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2028 - Summer/Autumn - Two Years Ago

There was a proverb about how the only thing that stays the same is change. Kyle could believe that. The last couple of years had been a string of one change after another, and it didn't look like things were going to settle down any time in the near future, either.

Two summers ago, for example, the house had been full of teenagers.

Only two of them lived there, Kyle and Willow's foster kids, twins Georgia and Garrett. Teenagers tend to move in flocks, however, so usually their friends would be around all day too.

Georgia spent most of her time with Melissa and Hope, and Hope was also Garrett's girlfriend.

... which sometimes left Melissa on the outside a little, although she seemed to enjoy Willow's company too.

They had all just finished their final year of high school and were excited for college and what lay ahead. The four would be living in the same dorm at Richmond City Tech. Kyle and Willow hoped that this would mean reasonably frequent visits, as the college was less than an hour away.

That autumn, with the kids moved out and the house empty, Kyle and Willow had their first real vacation in some years. Kyle had just marked a 'milestone' birthday and they wanted to do something special to celebrate.

They went up to the cabin in the mountains in Three Lakes. The cabin had previously belonged to Kyle's parents, but now their large extended family shared use of it.

Over the years they had developed some rules and routines around cleaning and maintenance, and little ways to make things more relaxed, like each person leaving some non-perishable food in the kitchen so the next person didn't have to shop immediately after the long drive.

There were also down sides to sharing the property, though. The cabin still had only an outside toilet. They planned to build on a proper bathroom, but no one had really taken responsibility for coordinating the project. Kyle and Willow hoped that, now that things would be a bit quieter at home, maybe they could start working on that.

Bathrooms aside, the place was comfortable and cozy, and just right for a quiet week away in the cooler weather.

--- From Kyle Part 1

My TS3 recreation of Three Lakes is the beautiful Salmon Woods, with some additions by me to give it a TS2 Three Lakes vibe. It's so pretty, this is why I want to move some of my playable sims out here and play it more often.

#richmondsims #ts3 #the sims 3 #sims 3 story

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altschmerzes · 2 years ago

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Thoughts on the new ted lasso episode?????? I have so many conflicting opinions re: zava

well first of all this is how i enjoyed it:

i will be repeating the experience weekly. cannot more highly recommend cosymode ted lasso.

as for the episode itself- [shrieks into my hands] i'm gonna put some thoughts under a cut, both generally and re: zava specifically, thank you for asking. these thoughts are not going to be at all organized and mostly composed in run-on sentences i am so sorry.

IM ALSO.... CONFLICTED ON ZAVA I THINK though it's interesting bc as i was watching the episode i kept getting like, OUTRAGEOUSLY distracted by..... [checks notes] not knowing what his first name is. this is not a joke. it was ACTIVELY distracting for me. i kept telling myself sometimes people are like this. like cher. you don't need to know his first name. and then two minutes later someone would mention him again and i'd be like What Is The Man's Fucking Name Though. it was so bizarre lmaooo.

honestly re: the man himself i'm like!! idk!!! jamie is clearly already way in his feelings about this and i can only imagine it's going to get worse which is gonna be. fucking delicious if we actually get to spend some time with and unpack it because 'i feel like i'm being replaced and i'm getting anxious/upset/lashing out about it' is one of my favourite sources of Angst Plots. we shall see. i am as always a combination of hopeful and anxious.

the dude playing him really did a great job striking a very specific and identifiable vibe for someone who had like Three Lines of dialogue and whose face we saw clearly like once.

i feel like i have two diverging paths in front of me with this guy's arc and it's either gonna be 'i'm riveted and having a great time' or 'please get this dude out of my face' and no in-between

and now for some general thoughts:

didn't realize this was the chelsea episode and somehow still had 'chelsea dagger' on repeat while cleaning up and getting ready to go cosymode. (i am stealing that song from its association with the chicago hockey team. it whips too hard to be left to them.) enjoyed the accidental reference when i turned on the tv and saw the title. also kept remembering a couple irl friends who are chelsea fans and having myself a giggle.

speaking of 'great time' vs 'get this out of my face' how relieved am i that they've now bait-and-switched me TWICE with fucking. love triangle bullshit. with roy and keeley and jamie. when he followed roy and not keeley i was like. oh thank fuck. the ensuing scene was both very sweet and very funny. they are welcome to continue bait and switching me on this as long as the switch Continues To Happen but if this goes in a Direction i am not gonna be thrilled.

something is brewing with keeley's company. it's not gonna....... go well, i think. something is gonna come to a head there, i got the feeling from the drop, and i'm not sure what or how yet but something's gonna give with that. all those scenes have this weird like. tension to them that i can't quite put my finger on and im intrigued to see where it goes.

i actually really like the CFO woman? she seems like a very interesting character and i think she and keeley could balance each other very well.

my jamie and dani besties agenda is flourishing. so is dani's hair. it's fantastic and i want to braid it.

oh speaking of hair back to zava for a second. beard pulled up the footage of him and i literally said out loud, pronouncing the letters not the word 'motherfucker': "oh this mf has my haircut"

AND SPEAKING OF DANI when he said "fuck off trent crimm" i think i shriek-laughed so hard the whole block heard me. dani my fucking beloved. i adore you.

y'know who else had a good episode here? isaac. his body language thing was so good. it made me laugh and also was a SPECTACULAR look into him as a person. every time we get a scrap of characterization on one of the secondary richmond player characters i dance around like the soot sprites with the candies in that ghibli movie i can't recall the title of off the dome.

i probably overblow this in my head, right, because everyone thinks their own perspective is like Super Unique or something but i really do think being an enormous irl sports fan is enhancing the experience i'm having with this show so much. watching the fans unfurl that banner for roy and cheer for him like that was like... immediately a half dozen welcome back tribute videos and player homecomings i've watched raced through my head and i was literally in actual physical tears. both bc of what was happening on screen and bc of All The Rest Of That in my head.

speaking of. oh my gd my heart hurt so much for roy as soon as he pulled that fucking. newspaper clipping from his wallet. i liked that he ripped it up at the end but i do wish it had come a little harder. he's been carrying that thing around for 20 years i'd have liked to see a biiiiit more of a battle over letting it go. still. holy shit and the bit at the end? about leaving chelsea? winded me. WINDED ME.

to be honest this was a rough one for him all around. i cannot imagine everyone i know making my breakup front page news in THEIR life too. which is like- they mean well and it's obviously coming from a good place and the people talking to him directly - jamie, ted, etc - are like. trying to be kind and supportive but if i were him i'd want to run away and also die in a hole about it so. big #felt that whole thing. even so, i do also have to say-

the roy's hyperbolic violence/threats thing is Back With A Vengeance! we know how i feel about this. i had a whole post about how i feel about this. it's a Bit, i know, it's a goof, this being a comedy show and roy being The Angry One but still i just. i feel like they take it a liiiiiittle past the pale in this ep, in general and also with jamie specifically. roy flying at him in the locker room during the big 'who's on first' round robin was a Bit Much for me - and i know i harp on this a lot but i maintain my stance here - given their history to this point. ted saying to roy near the end of the episode that like, he needed to get his act together or he'd be ruining more than one match was a good touch that did a lot to defuse some of my unease with this running thread but. it was still there and i was still a little [oh boy.gif] about it.

anyway so now i'm knee-deep in a fic about That.

overall it was spectacular, i really enjoyed it. knocked out of the park episode thank you so much.

i have many more discrete thoughts but i have to clip it here my keyboard is starting to lag lmaoooo

#gav gab #gav answers #ted lasso spoilers

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nwbeerguide · 1 year ago

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Stone Brewing Company expands their taproom-exclusive American Pilsner to all of Southern California.

Press Release

ESCONDIDO, CA ... Stone Brewing announces the release of its year-round Pilsner now available throughout Southern California. A 4.7% crisp and crushable beer, this is a pilsner for the people.

Stone Pilsner is easy drinking and clean with notes of orange, pear and watermelon. It’s light bodied with a mild breadiness and sweet corn chip finish.

First brewed at Stone Brewing World Bistro & Gardens – Liberty Station, Head Brewer Kris Ketcham wanted a year-round draft offering for the Bistro to satisfy the request of fans for something laid-back and light. As it turns out, the demand reached beyond the Bistro, so the team filled the big tanks too. This low ABV offering rounds out Stone’s year-round portfolio with a true Americana beer for sunny SoCal days.

Originally brought to the U.S. by German immigrants, pilsners here have evolved through the creativity of American brewers and ingredient growers. Stone’s American Pilsner is made with North American-grown ingredients and public varietal hops. Ketcham explained, “This beer is clean and crushable, with a light touch of Cashmere and Vista hops for good measure. Both come out of the public breeding program and we thought it fitting for our American Pilsner to be made with all American public hops.”

Closing out its third decade of brewing, Stone has made bold IPAs for hop lovers, decadent stouts for dessert lovers, even big haughty beers for arrogant people. Today, Stone says cheers to all kinds with a crowd-pleasing pilsner for the people.

Find Stone Pilsner in six-pack cans and draft throughout Southern California using Find.StoneBrewing.com or order online in select states at Shop.StoneBrewing.com.

...

ABOUT STONE BREWING

Founded in 1996, Stone pioneered the West Coast Style IPA, helping to fuel the modern craft beer revolution and inspire generations of hop fanatics. Today Stone operates breweries in Escondido, CA and Richmond, VA plus seven tap room and bistro locations. Stone offers a wide range of craft beers including its most popular Stone IPA, Stone Delicious IPA and Stone Buenaveza Salt & Lime Lager. The company’s long list of environmental efforts includes a LEED Silver Certification, world-class water reclamation and creative uses of spent grain. Stone has been called the “All-time Top Brewery on Planet Earth” by BeerAdvocate magazine twice. To find Stone beers, visit find.stonebrewing.com. For more information on Stone Brewing visit stonebrewing.com, Facebook, Instagram or Twitter.

#Stone Brewing Company #California #CA #San Diego #Escondido #Press Release #Beer

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uzumaki-rebellion · 4 months ago

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youtube

"I don't wanna wait for love

Every time I do

I don't wanna wait for love

Waitin' on him

Are you warm enough?

Coco blood

Are you warm enough?

Coco blood"

Celeste – "Coco Blood"

Celeste Profitt checked the GPS on her smartphone one more time before stepping out of her gun metal gray Dodge Charger.

She drove out to find the pale green double shotgun house, which was sequestered on the outskirts of St. Celestine Parish. Ten years previously, there had been flooding in the county her grandmother named Celeste after, and many families left the area when their insurance wouldn't pay for water damage. The houses left behind looked like gaps in the teeth of someone with infected gums. It reeked of working class poverty, the kind of poverty Celeste ferociously clawed her way out of by holding down two jobs. One at the poultry factory, where she removed the putrid raw entrails of slaughtered chickens, and the other at a nursing home, where she cleaned shitty bed pans and kept company with neglected elders with no kinfolk nearby.

The shotgun houses left standing weren't different from the Creole cottage she rented less than seven miles away, and she cut her eyes back to the one she needed. Damp air with the hint of rain coming caused her to sniffle. It smelled old around there, and something had definitely died in some bushes across the street. She zipped up her dark blue windbreaker and fingered the pepper spray she carried in the jacket's pocket. Couldn't be too careful around folks who chose to stay in a bad situation. It still smelled like floodwater and deep regrets.

She pulled a cigarette from her purse, but stuffed it back down to the bottom, reminding herself that she was pregnant now and couldn't hurt the baby that rested in her womb. The urge to puff daily was a struggle, and she refused to toss a ten-dollar pack of nicotine in the garbage. Shit, she might sell a few loosies if she needed to. Her funds were getting low paying for all the high-priced gas she burned through looking for her baby daddy.

Terry Richmond.

That's what he called himself, but now she wasn't too sure if that was his real name or not since she couldn't find his ass anymore once she decided to keep their baby. She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. She needed to stay calm and not think about the hurt and hate she carried in her heart for that man. Never trust a pretty boy with pretty eyes and a third leg. That should've been her motto from jump. But that was neither here nor there with the position she found herself in at the moment. Right now she needed some answers and the woman inside the pale green shotgun house was supposed to have the solution. She fingered a plastic grocery bag she also carried in her purse. Inside it was a blood plasma bag she toted around every day that she fed from when the urge overtook her on some days. The cravings for blood grew worse, and the fetus inside her stayed absorbing every nutrient from her body. What it wanted most lately was the blood in her purse. The baby inherited fifty-fifty of its parent's genes, and back when she thought things were cool between them, all lovey-dovey and real passionate in those early days…well, Celeste imagined their baby inheriting Terry's pretty eyes and her thick wondrous hair. He was lighter than her and she figured the baby would come out a gorgeous brown that was a mix of their two different skin tones. The last thing she wanted was for her child to come out with Terry's hunger.

For blood.

Celeste zipped her purse back up and concentrated on what she was there to do.

Talk to the Black witch of St. Celestine Parish.

The renowned Voodoo priestess down in Nawlins last weekend was a grand failure at solving her problem. Her Catholic ass made the sign of the cross several times throughout Celeste's consultation, which was a bit much for her taste. Celeste grew up Catholic too, but found it irritating that a Voodoo priestess acted so scary about a bloodsucker, while also bragging about turning people who were made into zombies back into human beings. At least that's what she claimed on her website. That phony bitch started whimpering and calling for Jesus when Celeste pulled back her shirt and lifted her bra to show the fang marks on her titties that Terry made that never healed properly. She explained how she became allergic to her silver jewelry, and fought with a three-inch bundle of developing cells over blood intake from the plasma bag.

She left the fake Madame Zeroni's Curio shop disgusted and a hundred dollars broker.

"Yeah?" he said in a gruff tone.

"You sure you here to see her?" the man asked.

"Mind ya business, Bertrand. She ain't here to see you."

"Lynn?" Celeste asked.

"It's me," Lynn said.

She opened her door wider and glanced back at her neighbor.

"Come on inside before anymore noisy birds stick they heads out," Lynn said.

Celeste stepped over the threshold and passed Lynn to get inside.

"Good Lord, gal, you got a head full of hair on you! How long you been growing it?"

Celeste touched her heavy and long bongo locs that fell down to her waist.

"Ten years now. Since I was a teenager."

"So thick and pretty. Betcha when you go swimming it's like fighting with an octopus, huh?"

Celeste grinned.

Lynn was much younger than she expected. Late twenties, maybe early thirties. Out in the parish swamps, there was no telling how old melanated folks could be.

"Come on back here into my kitchen," Lynn said.

Celeste waited for her to lead the way and they walked past two rooms straight to the neat kitchen.

"Hungry?" Lynn asked. "Got some beans and rice on the stove. Frying up some pork chops, too. Go 'head and sit at the table."

Celeste took a seat at a small table with a pink plastic covering. The savory odor of red beans and seasoned, fried meat made her mouth water. Her stomach grumbled.

"Oh, yeah, you hungry. I'ma fix you a plate."

"Please, don't go to any trouble for me."

"Ain't no trouble. Got plenty. I made extra for you, anyway. Pregnant women gotta eat good."

Celeste stared at the woman. She wasn't even showing yet and never mentioned being pregnant over their phone call consultation. Did Mercy tell her?

"Don't get spooked, Celeste. I work as a mid-wife. I can smell a pregnant woman a mile away. Relax."

Celeste watched the young Hoodoo woman fix a big plate of string beans, red beans & rice and a thick cut of pork chop fried to golden brown perfection. She plopped it down in front of Celeste and fixed herself a plate, too. Her close-cropped brown hair had a cute undercut, and both her ears had at least seven small gold hoops pierced through them. She wore an off-the-shoulder white t-shirt and booty shorts for the heat. Her eyes were small for her face and were the only thing on her that looked mature. Had she not known any better, Celeste would've thought she was chatting with a senior in high school.

Lynn sat down across from her and held out her hand toward Celeste.

"I like to say grace over my meals," Lynn said.

Celeste clasped her hand, and a charge of energy seeped into her palm from Lynn. She closed her eyes as Lynn said a short, heartfelt prayer, then lifted a half loaf of Wonder bread from her table. She unfastened it and handed Celeste two pieces.

"Ooh, wait, I forgot some libations."

Lynn jumped up and brought back a large glass pitcher of fresh lemonade. She grabbed two plastic cups and poured them each a good fill.

"I don't have no ice cubes for it, sorry," Lynn said.

Celeste sipped and the sweet/tart taste was delicious and cold enough. Both women ate quietly for a few minutes, and after Celeste's third bite of her pork chop, Lynn stared at her directly with fierce chocolate eyes.

"Did you bring the things I asked for?"

Celeste nodded and pulled out a bundle from her purse and slid it to Lynn.

"I got some hair from a brush he used at my place, and summa his semen. We made love the last time I saw him and he wiped himself with a washrag and threw it in my dirty clothes hamper."

"Semen is good. Anything liquid from the body is good," Lynn said, collecting the items that Celeste stuffed in a little sandwich baggie.

"Tell me everything about this man you're looking for. From the beginning," Lynn said. "In order for me to make a root powerful enough to find him and bring him back, I gotta know every detail."

Those chocolate eyes stayed intense.

Chapter 2 HERE.

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