#Live edge wood San Diego

[kristopherkirkpatrick]

Kristopher designs best furniture from Live Edge Wood in San Diego, CA. To know more, visit: https://www.kristopherkirkpatrick.com/live-edge-tables

[magnoliabutters]

• THOUGHT YOU DIDN'T CARE •

pairing: joel miller x (18+, she/her) reader

summary: joel and ellie are tasked to move a package from jackson to san diego. little did they know you were the "cargo..."

warnings: 18+ content, mdni, adult language, cordycep apocalypse related violence & weapons, canon divergence, tlou part 1 & 2 spoilers; angst, medium to slow burn, pet names, voyuerism, sub!joel and dom!reader, age gap in pairing, masturbation, etc.

word count: ~6.3k

support your writer: reblogs for daddy joel ✨🌿

request: by @yourmomsmilfmistress; katrina babes, i have another idea!!! i was thinking something along the lines of (whatever male character you want/ im not picky) is OBSESSED with reader and one day after a torturous hangout he starts to 🍆💦 ( ya know) after she leaves and for some reason it's not working and it's like he's just edging himself but (of course) reader comes and walks in on it and it's like sub!male and dom!reader smut!!!

note: um… most definitely. the way i thought of joel freaking miller instantly. sub male? common now 😈 we are set in a post-tlou part 2 world where no one died, abby who?, and ellie lives happily on the farm (aka 20+ age). also, loosely following the plot of part 1. for visuals of characters, i am moving forward with what we’ve seen so far of hbo’s part one and game’s part two casting. although as it’s older ellie, i went with video game looks. hopefully that makes sense. enjoy my fellow hoes ⚡️

Don't tell them your name. Just tell them you're there to see Maria.

His words keep running through your head as you gallop atop your trusted steed, Horse. He told you, repeatedly, that they will find you - not the other way around. All you needed to do was get to the vicinity of Jackson County. Well, you are about a mile into said county and you haven't come across a single person. Let alone, a single runner.

The two things cannot co-exist this far from the cities. If there are no runners or clickers, then there must be people. If there are infected, there are no people. But emptiness? That is something unheard of. It puts you on edge. You swear you want to just yell, yell to draw something out. But that would be stupid. You don't know how many are out here ... people or infected.

You hop over a razor wired fence in the middle of the road. Its height hits a the top of your knee. Perfect stop runners. Your first sign that people have been in this neck of the woods. The deeper you get into Jackson County, you wonder why all you need to say is "I'm here to see Maria." Would these people attack you and saying those words would be the only thing to stop them? Or are they dumb enough to bring just about anyone back into their town? You have absolutely no clue what he has signed you up for.

Fear stands your hairs on end. It fuels your adrenaline and heart as Horse guides you into an opened field. On the main road, you read a sign that displays "surface may be icy." You're thankful you were assigned this job in the middle of July. In front of you, you note green ivory glued to the brick walls of an old music store. The roads were shit, as usual. Cracks and bumps from overgrowth and lack of maintenance. You hope they are not too rough on Horse's shoes. She had them switched out in Colorado, back when you saw your people last.

Horse abruptly stops. Harsh enough for your full body to push up against her back. "Fuck," you grumble with a hand to your head. "What the hell?" You slowly open your eyes to note the clicker before you. With widening eyes, you swiftly reach to unhook your knife from the saddle. As quiet as a mouse, you hop off of the pillion and carefully land your feet on the grass below. You side step as you make your way closer. its clicks grow louder as it uses its echolocation in the opposite direction.

Your eyes are constantly moving, wondering if there are any other infected around. There is luckily no movement. Just one single clicker. The fungi sporadically growing throughout its body. The cordyceps on full display on its face - if you can even call it a face. In your last two steps, you rush up to it. You hook your arm over its chest. Your fingers curve over its shoulder as you grip tightly against the rough flesh. With your other hand, you stab your knife into the crook of its neck. It quickly became limp in your arms. You let slide off your body and ultimately onto the road.

"Drop the knife," you hear behind you. The voice is rough and booming. You gradually put your hands up. You drop the knife, careful to have it fall upon its hilt and not its blade. "On your knees," it bellows. You laugh, tilting your head to the side. "No can do," you scoff. "I only get on my knees when I want to." The man behind you laughs as he slowly walks up to you. His boots crunching against the dirt and gravel.

"On your knees," another voice appears. Despite its higher tone, it is just as rough. A smile grows upon your face as you carefully drop to your knees. "Oh for you, of course," you mutter to the woman. She quickly grabs hold of your wrist and places it behind your back. Her grip harsh and tight. You release a laugh as you lean back into your captor. "I'm here for Maria," you mutter.

Abruptly, the movements behind you stop. The grasp remains tight. "Maria?" the exasperated man's voice pushes through the air. His boots' steps become faster as he rushes behind you. "Why?" the woman asks. You feel the cool head of a gun at the back of your neck. "Hey, hey, hey," you furiously mumble. "I-I'm a smuggler. I'm with a group of people who told me Maria owes them one. I just got sent here for her to pay the debt."

The gun is pressed harder against your neck. "What debt?" the man's voice asks. You move your head to the side, attempting to pull yourself away from the gun's focused point. The gun holder makes sure it stays against your skin despite your movements. "I don't even know, man. I was just sent here. They told me to say 'I'm here for Maria' and that she would know what to do," you spit out.

You hear the man pace behind you. He sighs heavily. His voice hushed as he speaks towards the woman. "I don't feel good about this, El," he whispers. "Does she have any people in her past?" the woman asks. "Not that I know of," he says as those steps draw closer once more. You are suddenly pushed to the ground. You cut up your chin as you couldn't catch yourself in time. "Fuck," you mutter into the ground. "Your name," he mumbles. "I don't have time for games." You yell as your palms lay flat against the surface. "Rita," you quickly lie.

"Alright, Rita," the man's voice bustles behind you. "Let's go." Next thing you knew, a bag was pulled over your head. Your head was then banged against the hard rubber bedding of a truck.

They grip against the bag over your head so hard that it pulls on some of your hair as it uncovers your face. Your eyes slowly blink to adjust to the light. "Shit," you grumble as you relax your arms, only to realize that you were tied to a chair. Rope. Fuck, you think. Rope hurts the most.

"Now, Rita, I'm not going to ask again. Why are you here for Maria?" The familiar voice asks. You squint to look in his direction. A latino man with slicked black hair crouches before you. You look behind him to recognize that you were in a stable - a wooden stable. There is hay all over the floor, but no horses. What kind of stable doesn't have horses? As your eyes trail back towards your feet, you note red splotches staining the wooden floor below you. "Damn it," you whisper the elongated swear under your breath. You know exactly what kind of place this is.

"I told you already, man," you whine. "My people didn't tell me shit. Just that I was assigned a job and Maria owed a ride." You look into the brown eyes staring holes into your face. "I'm here to collect on that ride," you whisper. "To where?" the man asks. "I'll tell Maria ... once I get my ride," you answer with a smirk. The man raises his fist as his upper lip tenses. You wince at the sight.

“Tommy!” You recognize the woman’s voice as he holds back his fist. She walks out from the darkness of one of the stables. You smile at the sight. She looks younger than you. Her reddish brown hair gave you goosebumps. Her eyes a greenish blueish grey. Something you would have envied as a child. She some how looks sweet, but also has clearly endured so much in her short time.

“So, we have Tommy,” you share as you nod towards the man. “And El,” you murmur as you look up to her. You smile - a smile that El winces at. “I’m not here to cause trouble,” you sigh as you attempt to shrug against the chair. “I don’t want to give anyone grief. I just need to talk to-” Suddenly, a remarkable woman bursts through the doors. Another man at her side. Her eyes serious and hellbent. Her skin a deep and beautiful brown. She is undeniably gorgeous, and surprisingly pregnant. She definitely had the glow, complete with her large firmed bump. “Tommy, what the hell is this?” she asks sternly.

Maria, you think. They never gave you a picture, but you knew from the second she commanded that room. The second both Tommy and El backed away from you. Their hands either up or open at their sides. She was in charge. And she was headed right for you. “Maria,” you say with a sing songy voice. Her head shoots your way. “I need a ride.”

Maria stares down at your smile. Her upper lip pulls, just like Tommy’s. “Where?” she asks calmly. “San Diego,” you answer. “San Diego?” she scoffs. “I don’t owe them that much.” You tilt your head, smiling to yourself. “Well, someone thinks you do,” you smirk. Tommy grunts as he steps towards you. Maria quickly puts out an arm across his chest.

With a sigh, she returns her gaze to you. Her arm still across his chest. You are curious about those two. “I obviously can’t take you myself,” she mutters. “Obviously,” you affirm as you nod towards her stomach. “I’ll find you someone. You’ll leave in the morning,” she says carelessly. She turns around and speaks to her people. “Untie her,” she says under her breath.

The man who walked in with her quickly follows through with her demand. You rub your wrists and forearms where the rope’s red rings pressed into your skin. You stand with the devil’s smile across your face. El is the first to walk up to you, while Tommy’s eyes are still daggers. “Hey, sorry,” she says as she rubs the back of her neck. “Things didn’t go so well the last time a new person asked about one of our people.” You hum as you nod. “Make sense,” you say under your breath as you return your gaze to Tommy.

“Maria’s his wife,” El adds as she follows your eyes. “He’s been extra sensitive, given the baby and all.” You smile at her words. She pulls your attention. “It’s also Ellie by the way,” she mumbles. She gestures goodbye and walks out. “Rita?” the man asks. You look at him with confusion. “My name’s Jesse. Come on, follow me.” With hesitation, you follow the tall man out into the dark night.

Your eyes quickly fall upon the string lights crossing from building to building. It is so beautiful your mouth gapes open. “We have a small bed and breakfast for travelers,” he shares as he points to a building at the end of the street. “Shit - a bed and breakfast?” you scoff under your breath. As you walk, you note the happy and clean people randomly walking about. They are loud - comfortably loud. It must be nice.

“Where you from?” Jesse asks. His gaze stuck on you. “I don’t do small talk,” you say with a weak smile. “I don’t mean to be rude.” He laughs, raising his hands. “No, I get it. Just trying to make conversation,” he answers. “Oh, well if we’re making conversation, tell me what your favorite color is,” you teasingly laugh. He chuckles, shooting you a sweet smile. “Orange,” he scoffs. “You?” You nod, smiling as you step onto the front deck of this apparent bed and breakfast. “Green.”

With quick goodbyes, you go inside and easily secure your room. The room is on the first floor. Inside the small space, you have a worn down desk, chair, and bed. Your pack is already resting against the foot of the bed frame. You grab the back of the chair and hook it underneath the door’s knob. You turn the lock and deadbolt the door. When you finally lay back to rest, you reflect on your day. It didn’t go as well as you had hoped - as you had been told. But at least you are alive. At least you are on your way to San Diego.

After the best sleep of your life, Jesse led you to a building across the way. Maria, Tommy, Ellie, Jesse, another woman and a man sit alongside a long dinner table. The woman appears sweet. She sits closely to Ellie. The man is something else. His demeanor laid back, like he had no care in the world. His face kind, but also worn thin after years of this shit world. You can immediately see through the facade and know he is good. But damn does he give off such a strong guard dog vibe. He has random patches of grey amongst his black hair and beard. His eyes dark, but youthful. You struggle to keep your eyes off of him. He watches you, though. He sized you up as soon as you walked through the door.

“Rita,” Maria calls out. You are too busy attempting to watch him through your eye lashes. “Rita,” she says louder. You quickly turn your attention to her. Only now remembering that Rita was the name you gave them. “Yes,” you answer with high energy. “These are my best people,” she shares. “I want Joel and Ellie on this.” Ellie sits up straight, shocked as she exchanges looks with the girl beside her. The two begin to discuss in hushed tones. The man abruptly turns towards Maria, disingenuously laughing under his breath. “No, Maria,” he scoffs. “That ain’t happening.” The man stands, his hands firm against the table. He must be Joel. Rarely have you met someone who’s name perfectly fits them. It makes you smile.

Maria sighs as though she saw this coming. “I would go myself-” she starts. “So let me go,” Tommy interjects. Joel and Maria quickly respond “no” in unison. Maria takes a breath as she slowly looks to her partner. “I’m about to pop. You can’t go,” she whispers. “I need you.” Tommy solemnly nods as he looks back towards the rest of the group. Maria turns back to Ellie with patient eyes. “Ellie, Dina - are y’all okay with this?” she asks. Dina nods, looking at Ellie. "J.J. will be fine. You should go," she whispers. Ellie then turns to Maria and nods.

Joel's scoff could be heard from two buildings down. "This is bullshit, Maria and you know it," he yells as he slams his hand against the table. Tommy stands, pointing towards him. "Watch it, Joel," he warns through gritted teeth. Maria takes a breath as she looks between Ellie and Joel. "You two have gone across state lines more times than any of us. This should be easy as pie," she says softly. He rolls his eyes as a deep, unenthused chuckle falls from his lips. "What's the cargo?" he asks with furrowed brows as he looks off in the distance.

Maria turns towards you. She rakes over you with slight confusion and hesitation. Within a second, there was a moment where her face smoothed out. She took a breath and returned to Joel. "She is," she states with finality. Your face remains looking down the table, but your eyes travel to Joel's seat. He gradually turns to look at the group. With a guttural growl, he says, "Absolutely not." Maria throws her hands up. "Joel, they will come to collect. I will not put anyone else's life in danger," she yells.

"If they come to collect, they can take her dead body," Joel booms as he pulls a gun from his holster and points it towards your head. You remain still. Your breathing intensified as the remainder of the group stands to their feet. "Joel," Maria says softly. "We need her - whether you like it or not. We need her in San Diego." Joel exhales through his flared nostrils. His mouth tight as he looks down at you through the sights of his pistol.

"What's so important about her?" he asks as he lowers the gun. Maria sighs in relief. "I don't know," she shakes her head. "All I know is these people helped us in a pinch back when me and dad started up. They said they'd come to collect and all they needed was a team to get something to San Diego." Tommy watches her intently. It must have been the first time she shared this with him. "I've seen what these people have done when groups don't pay up, Joel," she mutters. "We will not win that fight without losing everything."

Joel sucks his tongue against the back of his teeth. He holsters his gun and walks towards the front door. He hooks a backpack over his shoulder and turns back towards the group. "Ellie?" he asks as he slowly opens the door. You turn to watch Ellie kiss Dina. She presses her head against hers and whispers things you cannot make out. They separate with a strong embrace. Ellie walks towards Joel. "You coming, Rita?" she calls out behind her. You stand immediately. Your shocked eyes fall upon Maria and Tommy as you attempt to process everything that has happened in the past few minutes. You grab your pack and walk out to meet the pair in the street.

Ellie watches Joel with trust and a hint of distaste. You wonder about their story. As you walk up, the two stop talking and turn to look at you. "Hello," you greet awkwardly. "While we're out there, you do exactly what I say - when I say. Understand?" Joel says sternly as he points a finger in your face. How could those sweet eyes simultaneously look so threatening? "Understood," you whisper under your breath as you exchange looks with Ellie.

Joel quickly turns and heads straight to what looks like a mechanic's garage. "Does he always have a stick up his ass?" you ask as you skip to catch up with Ellie. She smiles, nervously biting her lip. "At first," she mutters under her breath as her eyes remain on him. "The Chevy," he asks a man standing behind the desk. He promptly hands him keys without question. You nod, noting how nice it must be to live in Jackson.

"Chevy, huh?" you say, attempting to start a conversation with the man. Joel completely ignores you as he slides the keys into the door handle. "Nice try, but he's not going to crack for a while," Ellie whispers in your ear as she walks to the other side of the truck. You laugh as you open the side door and hop into the backseat. "Seatbelt," he says softly as he points Ellie's way. "Oh," she mutters as she slides it over her body and clips it at her side.

The three of you sat in silence for the first hour of the trip. It was unbearably boring. Wyoming's sights were not as incredible outside of Jackson county. You wish you could sleep, but did not trust the two enough to even try. "Joel," Ellie starts but continues to laugh. "Remember when we cleared this hotel. Remember the tomatoes?" She laughs so hard that she holds her stomach. She leans fully against the passenger seat as she kicks her feet up. You swear you watch Joel crack a smile as he watches the girl burst into a laughing fit. You wish you got a better look.

"What happened with the tomatoes?" you curiously ask Ellie. She turns, struggling to speak between laughs. As she starts, Joel quickly interrupts her. "Don't tell her anything. She's cargo, nothing more," he instructs. Ellie sinks into her chair. Her expression perplexed as she seemed excited to share. "Just cargo, huh?" you taunt. His face remains still as he eyes focus on the road. "Wow, you Jackson people are the sweetest I've ever met," you say sarcastically. "Maybe I should just dip out on this trip. I can probably make it on my own."

Joel quickly slams against the breaks. Your shoulder digs into the back of his seat as you let out a stunned groan. "What the hell?!" you yell. "We are taking you to San Diego, or we are taking your body," he turns to say with stern eyes. You place distance between you two. A sudden rush of alertness and danger bursting through your body. "Let me be clear. I don't care if you're dead or alive by the end of this trip. We are paying off Maria's debt," he seethes. "I'd recommend shutting up if you plan to get there alive."

You suck your tongue against your cheek as you laugh under your breath. You lean back harshly against the back of your seat. "Eyes on the road, asshole," you say as you nonchalantly gesture towards the street. He rolls his eyes as he faces forward behind the wheel. He presses on the gas gradually. Ellie sits in awkward silent with a tight lip. She finds comfort in looking out the window.

Less than a week has gone by and you are barely crossing the border into Utah. In each passing day, you learn something new about Ellie. She loves to draw. She met her partner, Dina, on the first day she got to Jackson. Her son is named after Jesse and Joel. She calls him her "potato" - an incredible nickname you find endearing. The days are starting to blend together, but Ellie remains a highlight of each.

Joel, on the other hand, has remained annoyingly silent. He solely speaks to Ellie. If he does choose to talk to you, it is usually some demand where he forgot how to say "please." He is abundantly cold. It is infuriating. Here and there, you catch him staring your way. His glimpses seem familiar, as opposed to his usual and intentional looks of anger.

He never looks at your eyes, but his gaze tends to fall on your lips and hair. Any time you caught his eye line, he would immediately look away. The way his gaze lingered on you always left you in a ball of confusion. You thought you would have been on edge, being stared at for hours on end. Yet, you loved it. It made you feel seen. It made you feel beautiful. If he wasn't so vocal about his disapproval, you would think he had a "thing" for you. For now, you just enjoy his looks - hoping they are filled with adoration and not hatred.

Luckily for the three of you, communication was not needed as much when taking out the infected. The trio even came across a group of clickers a day ago. Without saying a word, the three put on their gas masks and stepped into the spores. They could all hear the clicking echoing through the old and damaged walls. With only nods and looks, the three separated and silently took down each clicker.

You turned to look at them with excitement. “That was awesome!” you said joyously. “Very SWAT-team.” Ellie was kind enough to crack a smile as she cleaned her blade on the side of her jeans. You turned to Joel, waiting for any reaction. He gave you absolutely nothing. He shook off the blood on his machete and gracefully placed it back onto his backpack. He then immediately moved toward the cabinets in front of him to search for supplies. God, did he really not have a sense of humor?

Tonight, you find yourself resting beside Ellie in a closed off room. The day was once again filled with ambiguous look exchanges with Joel. Your body aches from taking out runners. You wonder if you'll be in pain for the entire trip. The room rests at the end of a long hallway with no other entrances or exits. The only doorway to the outside was located at the end of the hallway and was guarded by the one, Joel Miller. You continued to wrestle with sleep as you lay uncomfortably in your sleeping bag. You have now spent hours staring at the plant infested ceiling. Ellie, luckily, rests peacefully at your side. She felt safe enough to put earbuds in to help her sleep. Another thing of hers to be jealous of.

After a few hours, you decide that it will most likely be impossible for you to sleep tonight. You quietly stand and put your pajama shorts over your undies. You open the door into the hallway. It's long corridor was scarier at night. You pull your flashlight from your pocket. Clicking it on, you remind yourself that the only door is at the very front. You would undeniably see if anyone entered the dark hallway with you.

As you reach the end of the hall, you begin to hear quiet moans coming from the other side of the door. Your mind quickly rushes to the thought of a runner making their way inside. But once you hear slight heavy breathing and groans, you immediately recognize that the sounds were coming from Joel. Excitement bursts through your chest as you press your ear against the door. You could not have imagined a better sound escaping his lips. His groans sound so sweet, so supple. You wish you could be the reason they fall from his lips.

You nervously turn back to see that the door at the other end of the lengthy hallway remained close. There was no way anyone would be able to hear at the other end. Not unless they were right where you were standing. With a smile, you hear his breathing louden. You wish you could see him. See his brows pulling together as his mouth hangs open. You wish you could watch him stroking himself. You would bet on your life that his cock was large and girthy. You have been stealing glances of it beneath his tight jeans.

Your mouth starts to water as you hear his moans grow louder. It takes all your strength and will not to burst through the doorway and beg him to let you help. God, would you absolutely beg for that man - without question. You wonder who's on his mind. Who could possibly be the lucky person whom he is wanking off to? Your legs feel weak. You actually contemplate sitting down and playing with yourself alongside his intoxicating moans.

“Oh, Rita,” you hear fall from his mumbling lips. Your entire body lights up with pleasure. He is thinking about you… Your legs buckle beneath you as you struggle to stay standing. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you hear escape his lips. He must be close. You swear you can hear the slapping against his skin. All your blood rushes towards your clit. You want him - bad.

Out of no where, Joel stops. You hear a sound of frustration but remain curious. Was he edging himself? Shit. Why is that even hotter? you think to yourself. His moans slowly start again. Your mouth hangs open as you tighten your knees together. The friction feels good but it’s definitely not enough. You wish you could touch him. You wish he would be muttering your name as your hand strokes his dick. You wish his big hands could hold your head down as you take all of him in your mouth.

Almost as though you two were connected, Joel’s moans started to repeat more and more. His breathing heavies as your knees tighten harsher and harsher against themselves. Your clit now pulsating, desperate for stimulation. You cover your mouth, hoping your own gasping breaths were not loud enough to hear in the other room.

His voice strains as he gets closer and closer. He mumbles again, “Yes, Rita.” Shit, why aren’t you already in there? Your entire body is on fire but, oh, so nervous. You hear his skin slapping against each other. His moans growing louder. You hear a bump against the wall. His voice begins to break. God, he’s so fucking close.

“Oh baby just like that,” Joel whines. “Cum for me,” you whisper on repeat. Then silence fills the air. You worry if he might have heard you. You’re sure that him catching you listening in is so much worse than you catching him jacking off. “Damn it,” he yells softly with a grunt. That’s when you realize he isn’t edging on purpose. It seems like he can’t get past that final push. To release all that pent up energy.

You could help him. You know you want to. It’s the right thing to do. He must be in so much pain - all swollen down there, thinking about you. You would be helping him. You are so selfless. With a deep breath for courage, you quickly knock and open the door.

You spot Joel in his jean shirt. His legs are spread wide while he sits, bare, on the couch. His pants wrapped around his ankles as he holds his lengthy cock in one hand. His head rests back onto his other. As he hears the door creak open, he nervously grabs hold of a pillow and covers himself. You have never once seen shock and worry on the man’s face until now.

“Shit,” he yells as he scrambles to cover himself. You play dumb, covering your gaping mouth with your hand. “I’m so sorry Joel,” you whisper. “I-I thought I heard my name so I came out here,” you slyly taunt as you end with a smirk. Joel’s usual annoyed face returns as he realizes you know the truth. “Why didn’t you just come get me?” you ask innocently as you sit on the arm rest of his couch.

Joel watches you in confusion as he recognizes your advances. “I shouldn’t have done this, I’m-” he starts. You swiftly interrupt, “No need for apologies. I’m just confused is all.” You gracefully fall beside him. Your bare thigh touching his. The tips of your fingers dance atop his thigh. His grip onto the pillow covering his unit grows tighter by the second. “I thought you didn’t care about me,” you whisper as you lean closer to his face. You are now still, a few inches from his face.

"We don't have to do this," Joel mutters. His teeth locked as he watches you. He must think he's in danger. No, its quite the opposite. "Do what, Joel?" you ask as you pull away from him. You note a chair across from him. His backpack is sprawled over it. You carefully carry the backpack and place it closer to him. To show him that you are not something to be scared of. You then turn to sit in the chair. Your legs spread open as you bite your lip. Your eyes rake over the vulnerable man in front of you.

Joel watches you. He takes in shaky breaths. It is almost as though he is more nervous, now that he understands your intent. "Don't stop on my accord," you say as you gesture towards him. You slowly cross your leg over the other, batting him off with your eye lashes. You gently laugh as you watch him sit still, uncomfortable. "Oh, I get it," you murmur with a nod. "You need help." You watch your shoulder as you slowly push your spaghetti strap off it. You do the same with the other side. When you look back at him, a smirk is shown across your face.

His eyes are darker than normal. He still holds the pillow firmly against the skin between his legs. "Don't stop, Miller," you whisper as you slowly pull your shirt up. You expose your breasts to the cool air. Your nipples immediately harden. He involuntarily bites his lip as his eyes grow full of wonder. With that, he gradually pulls the cover off and shows his enormous cock. You start salivating. Fuck, you knew it would be big.

Joel's thumb starts to move slowly up and down his shaft. His eyes now fully on you. No pulling away this time. Pleasure fills your chest as you raise your chin and open your mouth. You lick your lips, hell-bent on tasting him. He starts to smile between soft moans. His rubbing becoming quicker as your hands calmly travel up your stomach and to your tits.

His breathing shakes harder as your fingers circle your nipples. Your tongue resting gently against your bottom lip. He loves it. His moans become louder as he watches you. "Oh baby," escapes his lips as he watches your sensual movements. "The name's y/n," you whisper. You smile at the shock spreading across his face. "I want to make sure you're moaning the right girl's name this time."

"Your name's y/n," Joel mutters under his breath. His movements stop as he watches you gradually open your legs. Your shorts clearly expose your inner thighs. It shows enough to give him the slightest sneak peek. "And your name is Joel," you coo. “Does that change anything?” He scoffs. A smile spreads across his face. First time you’ve seen it and shit is it beautiful. “Not a single thing,” he mutters. “Then rub one out for me, daddy,” you whisper as your hand travels down your stomach and atop your shorts.

Joel presses his tongue against his cheek as his smile grows larger. His hand starts to rub against his hardened cock. His fingers wrapped around his girth. You bite your lip. You wish it was your hand, but you are not giving up control. “Yeah, start slow,” you murmur as you adjust in your seat. His eyes track you. His eye line at your lips, waiting for the words to just flow out.

His breathing intensifies as he drops his jaw in excitement. “Ooo, just like that,” you whisper as you try to maintain deep breaths. Your clit begins to pulsate. Begging you to jump atop of him. “What next, y/n?” he asks with a gaping mouth. He fully enunciates your name with a smirk at the end. You laugh as your brows bounce. “Hm,” you think aloud. Your finger tapping against your chin. “Have your other hand play with your balls.”

Joel’s brow raises as he’s slightly taken aback. “Don’t make me say it twice,” you playfully seethe through your teeth. He sighs with a smile as his other hand moves from atop his thigh. He cups his balls slowly. A thumb rubbing between them. You suck in a deep breath as you adjust again in your sit. You can’t get comfortable. Your body screams that the only seat you want is on his lap.

His lower jaw keeps moving as deep breaths fall from his lips. “Shit,” he breathes. His eyes close ever so slightly. “Mmm’such a good boy,” you whisper. “Let me hear you.” He gasps as the muscles in his legs begin to tighten. He lets out a low moan. One so deep your entire body shakes. You let out a hesitant breath as your hand covers your mouth. You are trying so hard to keep in control, to be the dominant one - but shit did you want him to wreck your pussy so badly.

“I know you can moan louder than that,” you murmur with a grin. Joel softly laughs and quickens his movements. His breath is fast. His eyes closed. He sits up straighter. His hand slaps against his skin. You spot precum falling from his tip. “Shit,” you mumble under your breath. His head starts to fall back. It rests against the wall. He moves faster and faster. You squeeze your thighs together, holding your breath.

“Fuck, baby,” he whines. You could just about faint. “God, you’re going to make me cum, y/n.” You dig your nails into your thighs. You want nothing more than to see this gorgeous man cum all over himself. “Cum for me, Joel,” you whisper in excitement. Your entire body feels on fire. Goosebumps travel throughout your skin. “I want your big cock deep inside me, Joel. Please cum for me,” you gripe in an innocent voice.

“Oh, fuck,” Joel moans as his brows pull together. He squeezes his eyes shut tighter than before. You hear his voice raise in pitch. Higher and higher as his body moves faster and faster. You note him thrusting into his own hand. He looks so strong. He would feel so good thrusting inside of you. Finally, his breathing fastens and he starts to moan louder than before.

“I’m cumming. I’m cumming, y/n,” he whisper yells as his body tenses up. You immediately rush in front of him. You sit on your knees as you watch the show, up close and personal. Beads of cum stream down his elongated cock as he strokes firmly. You place much effort in keeping your hands to your sides. You watch as his breaths begin to slow.

“Fuck, Joel,” you say breathless. His eyes start to open. He lets out a gentle laugh through his smiling face. You crawl between his legs. His smile quickly falling as he curiously watches you. There you sit, his softened unit before you. “Your turn to help me, Miller,” you say as you bite your lips. His smile re-emerges as his hand pushes your shoulder back towards the ground. His body slides over you until his face hovers above yours. “Yes, ma’am,” Joel whispers as he plants a kiss on your lips so hard, yet so soft, that you completely fall head over heels for the man.

note: whatcha think? joel screams sub and fuck do i love it. also episode 3?? can someone just cry with me about that real quick? shall there be a part two? 🤫

*edit: there shall be & here it is

taglist: @fan-fiction-floozy, @dirtydianaahah

reblogs are much appreciated! feel free to comment or message if you’d like to join a tag list! 🌿✨🌿

• nav • no-no plagiarism • one shot • requests open •

[goldenseresinretriever]

You Catch More Bees With Honey: Chapter 9

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader

Part of the San Diego Dogfighters universe

Summary: Bradley Bradshaw, blindsided by a team he trusted like family has been traded to the San Diego Dogfighters. Across the country from the place he calls home, Bradley feels lost and betrayed. Not to mention the familiar faces and ghosts from his past that he now has to face every day at work. Bradley’s caught between wanting to show his former team the mistake they made in double-crossing him and wondering if it’s time to hang up his skates after one final season. You’re living your dream as the PR representative for the Dogfighters. When Coach Maverick made a bid to bring his godson to the team, you hadn’t batted an eye. Bradley was a good teammate, and a good player. Unfortunately, the Bradley that shows up in San Diego is nothing like your research suggested. He’s moody, irritable, aggressive, and angry, throwing a wrench in all your careful planning. What’s caused such a drastic change in him? And can you figure out how to help him before he makes a mistake you can’t fix?

Series CW: 18+ ONLY, swearing, dead parents, drunkenness, alcohol consumption, violence, sports violence, blood probably, angst, fluff, eventual smut, age gap (28 and 38), enemies to lovers, suggestive language, hockey inaccuracies etc. There will be individual chapter warnings. No use of Y/N.

Word Count: 5.4k

A/N: This is a repost of my completed series, You Catch More Bees With Honey. It was originally posted in November-March 2023, and was lost when my blog was deleted.

Previous Chapter // Series Masterlist // Next Chapter

You wake the next morning in the extra bed in Javy’s room. Your lower body aches and you let out a groan. Sun filters in through the gap in the drawn curtains, illuminating the empty bed next to you. Javy must already be awake. You roll yourself to the edge of the bed, fumbling with the nightstand to find your phone. You’ve got your usual slew of notifications as well as a text from Javy letting you know that he’s gone to breakfast with some of the other guys and the bathroom is all yours. He also lets you know that there’s a room key on the table if you need to go anywhere. You pull yourself out of bed, wincing at the ache between your legs that refuses to let you forget that you slept with Bradley last night.

You don’t regret it. After all, you’ve never felt that much pleasure before, and now you know that your feelings for Bradley might be reciprocated. What you do regret is how you handled the aftermath. You’re used to administering your own aftercare, of course, but something about up and running while Bradley was in the bathroom has guilt clawing up your throat. If he did have any feelings for you, were they gone after the way you acted last night?

While Javy had brought you pajamas and a change of underwear last night, you still need your clothes for the day so you steel yourself to face Bradley and slip Javy’s room key and your phone into the pocket of your pajama bottoms. You force yourself down the hallway back to your room, hand hovering over the wood before you force yourself to knock. You hear the scuffle of feet on the other side and then the door swings open. Bradley’s dressed for the day already in a t-shirt and joggers that he’ll trade for his practice uniform once you get to the arena. You dig into the carpet with your bare toes, averting your eyes to watch as shame warms your cheeks. Bradley doesn’t let you get away with it for long, a single finger under your chin raising your eyes to his. You’re terrified of what you’ll find there but where you expected the white-hot anger that you’ve seen burn in the whisky depths before, you just see a tentative nervousness, like he’s afraid of how you’ll react, or how you feel. You feel your tears from last night threatening to resurface and you long to bury yourself in his arms while he promises you that everything’s going to be okay.

“You okay, Honey?” He asks softly, his voice a gravelly rumble and you feel your lips quiver as his thumb moves to stroke over your cheek and you lean into the touch as you consider your answer. Bradley seems to understand that you need some time to think so he nods to himself, not slowing the brush of his fingers before he speaks again. “I’m going to go grab some breakfast, so why don’t you shower, and then we can talk?” He’s putting the ball in your court, letting you make the next move and you nod against his finger on your chin.

“Bradley Bradshaw, are you calling me stinky?” Your voice is rough from fighting back tears.

He chuckles softly, and there’s pure affection in his eyes that almost sends you to your knees. He pinches your cheek gently. “The stinkiest.” Your laugh is watery and hesitant but it’s there and Bradley smiles, his shoulders relaxing like he’s just let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “There she is.” He whispers gently and your heart aches in answer. Then he’s letting you go and stepping past you to head out, you duck into the room and you’re alone with your feelings again.

Your bed is still rumpled from your nap yesterday and it’s clear that Bradley stayed in his own bed last night. You collect your clothes, pick a soft lilac pantsuit today, and disappear into the bathroom to shower. As you undress, you catch sight of your reflection in the mirror and you remember Bradley holding your hand and gaze in it yesterday and that ache is back in your chest. In a quest for the normal, you bump one of your favorite playlists and let yourself enjoy a leisurely shower, singing along to your favorites.

When you exit the bathroom, you feel significantly better. Bradley’s in his chair by the window, sipping coffee and scrolling on his phone. The smell of it and whatever he got for breakfast is tantalizing and you bemoan the fact that you probably won’t have time to find breakfast before you have to head back to the arena. Bradley looks up as you enter the room, giving you a soft smile. “Hey Honey, breakfast is on the table.” You blink, surprised as your eyes follow his pointing finger to the desk by the television that’s holding a brown paper bag and another coffee cup. Propelled forward by the promise of food and coffee, you dart over, examining the cup before you look at Bradley, surprised.

“How’d you know my coffee order?” You ask as you take a deep sip and groan appreciatively as the sweet and bitter mix drifts over your tongue, warming you from the inside out.

Bradley smirks at you, “I have my sources.” You arch a curious eyebrow at him over the top of the cup.

“You’ve been going through my trash, haven’t you?” You tease, a smile tugging at your lips as you take another sip. He laughs at that.

“Actually, I texted Mickey and asked. I had to guess on the sandwich though.” You smile at that and dig into the bag. You pull out a package wrapped in paper and when you unwrap it, you grin at the bagel sandwich that’s stuffed full of egg, cheese, and a truly sinful amount of bacon.

“Bacon, you remembered…” you murmur mostly to yourself. You seat yourself on the edge of Bradley’s bed so you can be next to him for that conversation he mentioned earlier. You chew quietly for a few minutes, enjoying the food and Bradley drinks his coffee silently, turning back to whatever he was looking at on his phone.

Finally, you finish your sandwich, crumpling the empty wrapper and setting it on the small side table next to Bradley’s coffee cup, fiddling with your own. “Bradley, can we talk?” You hate how weak and desperate your voice sounds but you try to ignore it. He sets his phone face down on the table and turns to give you his full attention.

“As long as you’re ready, I am, Honey.” You twist your cup between your hands as you search for the words you want to say to him.

“I’m really sorry, Bradley.” You hate the way your voice shakes as you get the apology out. “I got overwhelmed and it scared me and I was alone with my thoughts and they got too loud and I just up and disappeared and to another guy’s room at that, after you were so sweet to me and you did a lot of stuff you didn’t have to do,” his eyebrows raise at that but he remains quiet as you continue rambling. “I didn’t mean to make you worry because it was good, really really good actually. It wasn’t anything you did, I mean. The reason I left.” You’re running out of steam and your hands are trembling.

Bradley reaches out wordlessly, taking the cup from your hands before you can accidentally drop it, placing it on the side table before he takes your hands in his huge ones. His thumb rubs your skin in those steady strokes that always seem to calm you. “Can I ask you some questions, Honey?” His voice is gentle, tentative like he’s trying not to spook a horse and you nod. It’ll be easier for you to answer specific questions than talk freely and you think he’s realized that. “What do you mean, I did a lot of stuff I didn’t have to do?” Your cheeks heat as you remember Bradley’s tongue and hands on you, in you, drawing out your pleasure like it was his only goal.

“I… uh, you uh, you wanted to pleasure me?” You wince at the awkwardness in your words. Bradley’s body goes rigid at your words and you see gears turning in his mind that you can’t seem to grasp until he looks at you with so much fear and dread in his eyes that his words catch you completely off guard.

“Honey,… were you a virgin…?” You choke at the question that comes seemingly from left field as you shake your head fiercely.

“No, no! I’ve had sex before, a couple of times, well maybe more than a couple, I just, I’ve never had a guy who wanted to do that kind of stuff…” you trail off and you watch Bradley relax considerably.

“What kind of stuff, Honey? Eating you out? Fingering you?” You’re almost jealous at how easily he’s able to talk about this like it’s something as simple as the weather.

“All of it.” You mumble and his eyebrows raise again.

“Then what was sex like for you?” He asks it like it’s nothing and you can’t help but feel shame and anxiety wash over you at the idea of telling him about your sexual experience. His hands that are holding yours squeeze encouragingly. “I’m not doing this to make you uncomfortable, Honey, and I don’t want you to feel like it’s something you have to be ashamed about, I’m just trying to understand where your head’s at.” Your shoulders relax a little at his words. Bradley’s not going to judge you, he doesn’t want to. Just like last night, he just wants you to feel good and it’s hard for you to wrap your mind around.

“Sex was mostly about the guy,” you explain. “He’d get off and if I was lucky I would too but not by anything he did. I had to take care of myself.” Your cheeks heat as fury blazes in his eyes. “I haven't been in a relationship or had a boyfriend since before… everything…” you explain. “And back then we were so inexperienced that it wasn’t the focus. And after that, it was all hookups and well yeah, it wasn’t about me.” Your voice trails off to a whisper. Bradley nods, turning your words over in his mind.

“So that’s why you just went right for it?” He asks and you nod your cheeks heating at the memory of Bradley nearly splitting you in half without any foreplay. “Jesus, you scared me half to death last night, I thought I’d really hurt you.” The worry in his eyes makes your heart ache.

“I’m okay,” you reassure him. “A little sore but fine other than that.” He grimaces slightly at that.

“I’m sorry, I was going to check on it again when I cleaned you up but you left before I could get the chance.”

“When you cleaned me up…?” You blink at him, surprised and he groans, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling before coming back to look at you.

“Aftercare, Honey, it’s a really important part of sex, don’t tell me you’ve never had a guy take care of you after?” You shake your head. “Jesus Christ, what kind of guys have you been fucking, Honey?” You know it’s a rhetorical question but you answer to try and lighten the mood.

“Bad ones, apparently.” He snorts a laugh at that before his eyes get serious again.

“So where do we stand, Honey? I don’t want to pressure you into anything because you said you were overwhelmed and that’s not something I want you to feel again, at least not because of me.” He looks so earnest and makes your heart ache because all you want is to climb into his lap and have him hold you. You’ve never yearned to be in someone’s arms more.

“I… I like you… a lot, Bradley.” You swallow hard as the words pass your lips. “But this is all happening really really fast, too fast. Like I said, I haven’t been in a relationship in a really long time and I was a different person then… I-I don’t know if I know how to be in one as the person I am now. I think… I think I need us to slow down. That is if you even want an us. But if you do, we’re going to have to pump the brakes, by a lot. It’s all a little overwhelming right now, and I need to slow down. I need to be able to breathe.” His face softens and he squeezes your hands gently.

“After last night, you really think I don’t want an us, Honey?” You look away, embarrassed when he phrases it so simply.

“I thought maybe your feelings might have gone away once we had sex…” You mutter and then his finger is under your chin again, guiding your eyes back to his.

“They haven’t, they're very much still there. And if you need to take things slow, we’ll take it slow. You set the pace, Honey. Like I said, the last thing I want is to overwhelm you.”

“W-would it be okay if we didn’t kiss…” you sputter the words out before you lose your nerve. “I-I just I’m not used to it and uh, I just-“ you pause since you’d expected Bradley to cut you off by now but he just nods.

“You set the pace, Honey. Tell me what you’re comfortable with and what you’re not and then we can move forward.”

“Uh… no kissing, on the lips at least, um, forehead and cheek and stuff are okay I think?” Your cheeks heat at the fact that Bradley’s giving you this kind of power, to tell him what you’re comfortable with and he’ll just respect that without arguing. “Definitely no sex… but hugging yes, cuddling would be nice.” You feel your cheeks heat more as Bradley’s mouth twists into a soft smile. Then he’s tugging your hand and pulling you into his arms. You relax instantly, melting against him. He presses his lips to your temple gently before whispering into your ear.

“This all good for you, Honey?”

“Perfect.” You whisper and nuzzle against his chest softly.

“Honey, can I ask you one last question?” You nod. “I know we’re slowing things down but we’re still an us, yes? There’s… there’s nothing going on between you and Javy… right? He told me there wasn’t.” You can hear it then, the hesitation in his words like he’s afraid that you’ll break his heart. You sit up at that, face-to-face with him, meeting his beautiful chocolate eyes with your own. You reach to stroke his cheek gently.

“There’s nothing going on between me and Javy. I’m not trying to catch a venereal disease. Honestly, I’m surprised we’re even friends.” Bradley barks out a laugh and his chest vibrates against you, making you smile. “And yeah, we’re an us. You’re the first person I’ve wanted to be anything with in a long time.” You tuck your head under his chin and he pulls you closer. “Thank you, Bradley.”

“For what, Honey?” You can feel the rumble of his throat as he answers you.

“For being okay with all of it, with me.” You murmur against his chest. His arms tighten around you.

“Always, Honey, always.”

***

The game is mostly uneventful. The boys put up a good effort but ultimately lost, 4-3. The mood on the bus back to the hotel was grim, the tension palpable, but the boys seemed to have slept it off as spirits were mixed this morning as the team boarded the jet to your next destination, Washington D.C. The match against the Capitals isn’t until Thursday, so the boys will be afforded some well-deserved downtime. You’re once again rooming with Bradley per Cyclone’s orders which you’re more comfortable with now that the two of you have set defined boundaries.

You can’t help the nerves that claw at your stomach when you think about them. Sure, Bradley had said he was fine respecting them but you’d given him almost nothing aside from the commitment that you were working towards giving him everything, but since you had no idea how long that would take, you feel like you’re denying him things he deserved to have in a relationship. He doesn’t seem to be concerned for now, at least. You just hope you don’t let him down.

Bradley’s once again carrying your garment bag over his shoulder as you approach your shared room. He unlocks the door and you head in as he holds the door. Your shoulders relax until you reach the main area and your face falls as you take in the bed. Singular. The king bed takes up most of the room and you can’t breathe. Bradley’s voice comes from right behind you as he reassures you.

“I can go sleep in Javy’s room tonight.” His hand rubs comforting circles in your tense shoulder. You turn to face him, hands twisting nervously.

“No, it’s okay. As long as you’re okay with it and we follow the rules, I’m okay with it.” A part of you longs to make up for the night the two of you should have shared two days ago after the more physical activities were finished. You want to know what it’s like to spend the night in his arms, to fall asleep feeling totally and completely safe.

“If you want me, Honey, you have me.” Your heart flutters at his sweet words.

***

Since there isn’t much for you yet, you come back to the hotel before the boys do. You’re anxious to get into your pajamas, eager to enjoy an early night after the excitement of the past few days. Maybe you’ll order room service and have your dinner in bed. Your daydreams are burst by the sight of a familiar face at the hotel bar when you walk by on your way to the elevator. What’s Cyclone doing here? Managers don’t typically travel to games let alone attend home ones but Cyclone claims that it’s good for publicity if it looks like he’s involved. Still, he’s never come on a road trip before and you’re awkwardly standing and staring when he catches sight of you and calls you over.

You feel like you’re being dragged by an invisible leash as you sidle up to the stool that he’s currently occupying. He’s sipping a martini that you try not to think too hard about given that it’s a little past 2 pm.

“Cyclone, sir.” You acknowledge him and he waves you off.

“No Cyclone, just Beau is fine.” You blink, stunned by his sudden change in attitude towards you. “Have you had lunch yet?” You’re too stunned to answer so you just shake your head. “Perfect, neither have I, come join me.” He waves down the bartender and lets him know that he’d like to move to a table at the hotel restaurant and you follow him, still in a daze at the whiplash you’re suffering. You sit down in a booth across from him and numbly take the menu the waiter hands you.

“So… Beau,” you force yourself not to grimace when you use his first name. “What can I do for you?” He gives you a dazzling smile that you’ve never seen before and you’re even more uncomfortable.

“I wanted to sit down and get a chance to get to know you. Your mother was one of my dearest friends.” You want to ask why if that’s the case, he didn’t know she was dead.

“Sure, of course.” This is the opposite of how you expected to be spending your afternoon but you decide to accept your fate and carefully slide your professional persona into place. “So, how did you know my mother?” You’re more than willing to play dumb to your advantage. Cyclone has no idea that he used to basically be a bedtime fairytale for you growing up, and you’re content to keep it that way.

“We met in college at Yale.” You nod along as he continues. “We were quite close until we graduated. I feel like I owe it to her to take care of you. It’s what she would want.” While you don’t doubt that he’s right because your mom had always seemed to carry a torch for her mystery lover, you’re not so sure she’d approve if she could see him now.

“Oh, that’s very kind of you.” You parrot obediently, turning to the menu to pretend to be making your selection.

“Order whatever you want, my treat.” He says, still wearing that dazzling smile. Well, now you officially HAVE to order something. At least eating will save you from having to talk. You have plenty of experience sitting quietly while self-important men talk at you so this should be a piece of cake. You wonder if it’s worth the risk to order the burger you’d been dreaming of all day instead of going with a more traditionally ladylike lunch option like a salad or soup. You decide on just going for the burger. You can’t afford to be hangry around this man.

Once the two of you have placed your orders you realize that Cyclone’s been staring at you for longer than you feel particularly comfortable with. You clear your throat politely. “Is there something on my face?” You ask, hesitantly, even though you’re pretty sure you know why he’s staring.

“It’s just, you look so much like her.” You stifle a grimace.

“Well, you know how genetics work…” you paste a warm smile on your face as you try to trifle a scream. “Does Dragon take more after your wife?” You know it’s a low blow but you’re hoping your charming smile makes the faux pas look ditzy rather than aggressive. Dragon looks nothing like her father. Anyone with eyes can tell. Her mannerisms, however, echo her father in more ways than you can count.

His brow furrows slightly and for a moment he’s the Cyclone that you’re used to seeing before he dismisses it with a shake of his head and a mutter of “Yes, yes she does.” He switches right back to this unfamiliarly eager man that you can’t help but wonder is the one that your mother once fell in love with.

Your mother had told you plenty about Beau Simpson without mentioning him by name. You knew he came from money, a long line of it, rooted in some financial corporation. He was a legacy admission to Yale since all the men and a few women in his family had gone there. In comparison, your mother had chosen Yale because they’d offered her the most generous figure skating scholarship. By all accounts, they should have never crossed paths in the first place but one day he was running late for hockey practice, shoving his way through a crowded hallway when he knocked her in the head with his hockey stick.

You do your best to imagine the man in front of you as the clumsy boy that your mother had told you about. He still had those green eyes but now they were cold and closed off rather than dancing with light and life that she’d always described as spring incarnate. Cyclone clears his throat as he asks.

“So, what year did you graduate from Yale?” You arch a surprised eyebrow at the question. He’d been the person to interview you, he of all people should know that you didn’t graduate from Yale let alone attend.

“I didn’t. I went to the University of Wisconsin.” You answer primly, doing your best to keep the awkwardness out of your voice. His eyebrows rise.

“Oh, I just assumed since your mother went to Yale…” He trails off.

“Yes, and my father went to Brown.” You add. “The Ivys weren’t really for me, though.”

“Your father went to Brown.” He repeats, brows furrowed.

“Yes, but Mom never really cared about that kind of stuff. They met at a coffee shop in Hartford.” You shrug. “They didn’t really care where I went to college, just that I was doing what I loved.”

“And what was that?” Your breath catches in your throat. You swallow, hard before replying.

“Figure skating.”

“Like your mom.” You nod. You don’t want to talk about it, not really. You never do, but you know you have to power through this lunch. You take a deep breath and pretend it’s Bradley sitting across from you instead. Talking about your mom always seems easier when it’s with him, even more so than with Mickey and everything’s easier with Mickey. You try not to think too hard about what that means as you field Cyclone’s questions about your life.

***

You’re already lounging in bed when Bradley gets back and you don’t miss the way his eyes soften with fondness at the sight of you under the covers. Your cheeks heat as he gives you a smile, coming over to sit on the edge of the bed after toeing off his shoes. “Hey Honey, how was your day? Bugs said you left early so I hope you got some well-earned rest.” You sigh, slumping against the pillows.

“Well I mean I did, but not as much as if I didn’t have lunch with Cyclone.” Bradley’s brows furrow and he frowns.

“Cyclone?” You nod.

“Apparently he flew in for this game because he and the Capitals’s head coach are fellow Yale alumni.” You roll your eyes as hard you can and it elicits a chuckle from Bradley. “Anyway I walked by him at the hotel bar when I got back from the arena and he invited me to have lunch with him.”

“What did he want?” Bradley asks warily.

“To talk about my mom. He claims to want a relationship with me, says it’s what my mom would have wanted.”

“Is it?” He asks, his hand finding your ankle over the sheets and rubbing rhythmic circles into the joint. You shrug.

“I think if my mom wanted a relationship with him, or for him to have one with me, she would have contacted him. He was an NHL player for God’s sake, she could have found him if she really wanted to.” Bradley nods silently, keeping up the soothing pattern on your covered ankle.

“Is that something you want?” He finally asks. “A relationship with him?” You frown slightly. You honestly hadn’t given it much thought. You turn Bradley’s words over in your mind as you once again fall into that comfortable silence that you’ve come to enjoy sharing with him.

“I don’t know. I know there’s a chance I get to see another piece of her, you know? A piece that no one else can tell me about. But I don’t know if I’m ready for that, and I don’t know what Cyclone would even want out of a relationship with me. I’m not about to dig out my mom’s old college clothes and play dress up for him, you know?” Bradley’s brows furrow and his grip on your ankle tightens, his fingers stopping their soothing motion as his jaw tightens and his expression hardens.

“If he even so much as SUGGESTS that,” Bradley growls and you suppress a shudder at the pure venom in his voice. You wave him off.

“I’ll kick his ass before you even get the chance.” You reassure him and he relaxes slightly. You give him a soft smile in response to his fierce protectiveness and you’re reminded of the way he’d gone for the defenseman that attacked Mickey the other night. This is another side of Bradley that you’re seeing and it makes you feel even more safe in his presence.

Your eyes fall on the Target bag in his hand and arch an eyebrow nodding in its direction. “What’s in the bag?” you ask and watch pink splotches climb up his neck as he rubs the back of his neck ruefully.

“A couple of the guys wanted to stop at Target to get some stuff so I went with and Mickey helped me pick some stuff out.” He passes the bag across the bed to you, the pink reaching his cheeks as you peer inside, eyebrows going straight up. “You said you didn’t bring anything except your work clothes so I thought you’d like some other options. Mickey picked everything. I figured he knew what you liked and your sizes.”

“Thanks,” you stammer, surprised by Bradley’s thoughtfulness. “How much do I owe you?” He shakes his head gently.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s my treat.” You open your mouth to protest but he gives you a firm look and you roll your eyes, turning back to the bag. Inside are a pair of jeans and a chunky sweater that you know you’ve been eyeing for a while now and have definitely mentioned to Mickey in the past. Under those are a couple of tasteful graphic tees that scream Mickey and make you giggle as well as a denim jacket that goes with all of them. There’s also a simple black peacoat at the bottom of the bag. That you know deep down has to be Bradley’s choice despite his earlier comments. As you pull it out a pair of simple black gloves also tumble out.

“Gloves seem a little excessive, don’t you think?” You ask as you turn them over in your hands.

“Hardly,” Bradley replies. “I won’t always be around to keep those pretty hands warm.” You feel your cheeks heat as he takes your hands in his, bringing them up to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to them. “You wanna go out tonight?” You shake your head, leaning back against the pillows and snuggling into the covers.

“Room service it is then.” He decides and gets up to grab the menu.

***

Later you’re curled up in bed, eyelids heavy as you wait for Bradley to get out of the shower. Your eyes fall on the remnants of your dinner strewn on the table and you smile at the memory of throwing french fries at Bradley while he took it all in good fun before smearing ketchup on your cheek in retaliation. The click of the bathroom door alerts you to his return and Bradley pads over to the other side of the bed. “You ready for bed, Honey?” He asks, and you nod sleepily. “You sure you don’t want me to sleep in Javy’s room? I already cleared it with him in case you changed your mind.” You shake your head and he chuckles softly. “Words, Honey.”

“Don’t go, Bradley, want you to stay with me.” Your voice is addled with sleep but you manage a groggy smile at him as his eyes eyes soften as he climbs in.

The bed is big enough that you could easily pretend that he’s not there but you’re not sure that’s what you want. You want to feel what it’s like to fall asleep in the comfort of his arms. But what if that’s not what he wants? What if it’s too much temptation for him? You don’t want to hurt him by making his life a living hell. Your thoughts are still racing for a few minutes after Bradley turns off the light and plunges the room into darkness. They get louder as you’re left alone in the blackness with them until Bradley breaks the silence that’s anything but comfortable for you right now. “Honey, get over here.” You turn in the dark to try and make him out as your eyes adjust. The rustle of the sheets helps you piece together that he’s holding his arms open for you and you scoot across the bed without a second thought, letting out a breath of relief as you curl against him and he chuckles in your ear at your eagerness.

“Goodnight, Bradley.” You murmur, sleep already eagerly leading you down into the comfort of his arms.

“Goodnight, Honey, sleep tight.” You drift off to sleep to the feeling of his lips pressing against your temple gently.

[bluemoonperegrine]

Work on the "Layla comes to town" fic begins... now.

@vicarious-rebel and I have the broad strokes of the plot. Now I'm figuring out exactly where it's set because that helps me write. It's like the outside edges of a sandbox. Loose guidelines, some of which spark inspiration.

Camping in a wooded area northeast of San Diego looks likely. Robin and Bri put the kabosh on the desert highlands. "It's where we live and work. Let's go somewhere with, you know, moisture."

Layla: Pfft. Weaklings. *exaggerated wink*

Additional silliness because I feel like it:

I voted 26 - 50% because I want to see how others are voting. I honestly don't know if Jack's going to cry or not. Vi always encourages making him miserable, but she's not the boss of me* so I don't have to vote 100%. * much 😂

[astragreenwoode]

The Spitfire Curse - Chapter Three

Previous: Chapter Two • Next: Chapter Four • Masterlist • AO3 Version

Rating: Explicit(18+ ONLY)

Pairings: Billy Hargrove x Fem!OC, Steve Harrington x Nancy Wheeler

Warnings: Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-Con, Non-specified Mental Illness, Self-Harm, Drug Use, Hypersexuality, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Hearing Voices

Genre: Adventure, Thriller, Horror, Slow-Burn Romance, Angst, Hurt/Comfort. Smut, Fluff, Slight Canon-Divergence, Fix-it fic

As always, thank you @take-everything-you-can for your beta reading and all your feedback!

Chapter Three: People Are Strange

Word Count: 11,042

Chapter Warnings: Disembodied Voices, Hypersexual Thoughts, Anxiety, Sexual Themes and Implied Smut, Explicit Language, Humiliation

Chapter Summary: Maeven recalls the last time she was so nervous to be at a new school, and how her father helped her through it. During the school tour, she meets two of her new classmates and catches glimpses of other friends she may make along the way. But whether or not she adjusts well to Hawkins High all depends on her. . .and Billy, of course.

September 1974

The last time I was so nervous about being at a new school, I was about to turn eight years old. Before San Diego, we lived in a small-ish rural community in southern Oregon. After getting married, Mom and Dad decided they needed a break from California, and moved to a place where their children could enjoy life without the world spoiling them.

Our home was five miles outside of town on a dirt and gravel road, in a field surrounded by a ring of trees. The trees made a dome around the edge of our property, covering the front yard and the front of our house in a veil of shade that faced east. The sun shined on the other half of our property, warming up the grass like a heated blanket. The stone path from our back porch led into the wildwood, turning into a small bridge that stood over the creek.

I spent my early days exploring the seemingly infinite woods and warming myself on the grass as I stared up at the tall trees and blue skies; Max was so little then, and Thunder was still alive. He was our family’s big malamute mix they adopted before we were born.

We lived on the edge of one of the Pacific Northwest’s many lush and green forests. Since no one officially owned it and our closest neighbor was two miles away, I liked to imagine it was mine. It was where I discovered my lifelong passion for everything wild when I found friendship with a soft-natured raccoon. I’d later come to make friends with possums, a fox family, and a quiet doe with her fawn. It was comfortable there; cozy in the colder months, and cooler during the warmer months. While it wasn’t perfect, we were happy there. But as Max and I grew, it seemed to become smaller and more crowded.

Eventually, Mom and Dad grew homesick for California and decided to move us back to San Diego permanently. Until then, we had only ever taken long road trips there and back again every Spring and Summer break. Moving transferred our parents’ homesickness onto Max and me. She was as upset by the move as I was, but was more excited; she thought of it as a new adventure.

The day Dad waited with us at the bus stop for our first day at a new school, I was petrified. Max was jumping over the cracks in the sidewalk as I gripped the straps of my backpack and stared down at my feet. That morning, I clung to my mom as I begged her to let me stay home, but she forced me to dry my tears or else she’d be late for her first day back at her old hospital.

Dad surprised us that morning. As I was about to get on the bus with Max’s hand in mine and the bus driver trying to hurry us along, Dad tugged us toward him.

“You know what? I’ll drive you girls today. It’s a special day.”

I was hoping he would just take us straight back home; well, to our new house. I didn’t consider it home, yet. What he ended up doing that day was much better than I expected, teaching me an important lesson I still rely on today.

He drove us to our new school in his jet-black Impala; he bought it the year I was born. Max was in her car seat in the back kicking her feet to the sound of She Loves You by the Beatles on the stereo. It was her favorite. Mine was Blackbird. I loved riding in that car

As we drove up to the building of the elementary school, I curled myself into a ball and sunk deeper into my seat.

“C’mon, Mae-Mae, we gotta go. You don’t wanna be late for your first day,” my Dad sighed, putting his hand on my knee and giving it a gentle shake. I tightened my arms around my knees.

“I’m not going,” I mumbled through my curled limbs.

“It’s not a choice, Spitfire.”

“I’M NOT GOING!” I exploded, uncurling myself and staring daggers at my Dad with tears in my eyes. He was taken aback a little by my sudden outburst but still kept his cool. But when I heard Max start to sniffle at the sudden loudness, I climbed up on the seat and held her little hand. I knew if she started to cry, I wouldn’t be able to get my tears to stop falling.

“No, no, Maxy, don’t cry! I’m sorry!” I whimpered, trying to keep myself composed as I closed my eyes to hold in my tears. After I took a few deep breaths, I heard Max’s cries cease as she started back up with giggles. I opened my eyes to see Dad waving Max’s stuffed rabbit, Flopsy in her face. She had just dropped it. It wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t my fault.

After returning Flopsy to her, Dad turned back to me and put his hand on my shoulder.

“I know this is hard for you, Maeven. I really do. I didn’t want to, either, but we had to,” he tried to explain, but I wasn’t having any of it.

“No, we didn’t,” I whined, tilting my head up to the roof of the Impala.

“We did. It might not feel like it, but we did,” he responded. I turned my back and brought my knees up to my chest as my feet rested on the leather seats. It was something I knew he would prefer I not do. But he didn’t say anything.

We sat in silence for what seemed like hours when in reality, it was probably only five minutes or so. The world moved on outside the car, the parking lot alive with parents and kids of all kinds walking in and out of the building. It helped that Dad just let us sit there and let me soak up the environment instead of just pushing me straight in.

“Do you remember when I first read you Watership Down?” he asked suddenly, breaking the uncomfortable silence. I didn’t understand why he asked that at first, but it was nice to have a distraction from the growing anxiety in my stomach brought on by my fear of change.

“Yeah? What about it?”

Watership Down was one of my favorite books. Mom and Dad took turns reading it to me when I was smaller; a chapter a night. Before that book, I never saw rabbits as exciting creatures. I loved them as much as all the animals I had come to love and study in books, zoos, and in the forest behind our old house. They were never as interesting as the others until Richard Adams turned them into something different.

“Do you remember what you first felt when the rabbits left their warren?” he followed up. I read and re-read that book so many times that I knew it by heart now. I had to think for a minute.

“I was excited. I knew they’d go on to have some fun adventures,” I said. Dad nodded his head at my enthusiasm.

“Yeah. And they did, didn’t they? But why did they leave?”

I had to think about it for a moment again.

“Because they were in danger?”

“Exactly. They left because they had to,” he explained, and I finally started to understand what he was trying to say.

“Are we in danger?” I asked, my shoulders tensing as I frantically looked around the parking lot.

“No, no, Spitfire,” he reassuringly laughed, stroking the back of my head. “It wasn’t dangerous back at our old house. You’re safe. I promise.”

“Then why? Did I do something wrong?”

“Of course, you didn’t, Maeven. It’s nobody’s fault. It’s just that. . .things just happen, sometimes. Unexpected things you didn’t prepare for, and the best and only way you can make things better is to change.”

I stayed quiet a little bit longer, my shoulders now relaxing. Dad gave me as much time as I needed to reply.

“But that’s sad,” I whined.

“It can be sad. And that’s okay. Do you remember when you were so upset that you couldn’t wear your favorite coat anymore when you played in the snow?”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, but what did we do that day? I took you to get a new one, and you ended up liking that even better.”

I nodded my head. I did love that coat. It was a deep vibrant shade of purple with snowflakes along the trim. And of course, I missed my old one. I had a good reason to; it was rainbow striped. But Mom gave me striped rainbow leggings for Christmas I could wear instead. Everything worked out in the end, even if I didn’t feel like it would.

“The point is, Maeven,” Dad continued. “nothing can always stay the same. And when the rabbits had to fight the general, weren’t you scared?”

I was scared for them. I was afraid of what would happen to their warren; their new home they fought so hard to find and make their own. I wanted everything to be alright.

“Mmm-hmm. . .”

“Hazel, Fiver, Bigwig, and Holly were scared, too. But what happened?”

Even though they were scared of what Efrafa would do to them if they lost, they did it, anyway. They were brave.

“They did it anyway?”

After so many hardships, the rabbits of Watership Down were fine. “Be cunning and full of tricks, and your people will never be destroyed,” the book's words echoed in my head.

“Exactly. And when they did, they ended up happier, safer, and stronger than they were in Sandelford, weren’t they?”

“Mmm-hmm! They adaptated!” I mispronounced.

“It’s adapted, Maeven,” Dad laughed, fluffing up my hair.

“Oh, okay. Adapted,” I corrected myself.

Going to a new school didn’t seem so frightening, anymore. If rabbits were smart and stubborn enough to dig themselves out of every bad situation, I would be fine.

“You are an animal, Maeven. You’re smart and strong, and wherever you go, I know you’ll adapt. You’re gonna do great in there. I just know it.”

. . .

Billy turned the radio on at full blast for the remainder of the ride, filling the awkward silence with the thrashing of Motley Crue. Maeven kept bouncing her leg and tried not to let the volume bother her. Snapping the rubber band against her wrist helped keep her calm, even if it hurt a little.

Maeven caught a quick glimpse of the campus the other day when Billy picked up her and Max from the arcade. The school was a lot less intimidating when looking at it up close. It was underwhelming compared to what Maeven and Billy were used to, but she saw that as a good thing. It meant there weren’t as many people, so maybe she wouldn’t be as nervous when caught in the crowds. Unfortunately, it also meant she would be noticed in a small school where everyone knew everyone, and word probably spread faster in the rumor mill than back in California.

“They’re gonna find out, somehow,” the voice taunted. “And when they do, you’ll be dead. You never even had a chance, Not here, not anywhere. Just run away.”

“No! Shut up! Just shut the hell up!” Maeven yelled, not hesitating to slap herself in the face. But as soon as Billy caught her wrist to stop her from harming herself again, she remembered that she wasn’t alone, and suddenly realized they were parked in the parking lot now.

“Sorry! I’m sorry, it’s just. . .”

“The voices?”

“Yeah. . .”

“It’s okay. Just ignore them and they’ll go away.”

“Easier said than done,” Maeven said to herself.

The look in Billy’s eyes broke her heart. It had been a while since she snapped like that.

The campus was most definitely smaller than Newport’s. It was more similar to the size of the Junior High she and Max attended back in California. The Junior and Senior Highs were in separate buildings, spread out amongst the campus with a few disconnected buildings where they probably had extracurriculars and clubs. Maybe the auditorium was there, too. It would be easier to navigate once they were done with the tour. And Maeven liked that she could keep an eye on Max.

Max and Susan got out of Neil’s station wagon before he drove off, as he had to finish last-minute transfer paperwork before he started his new gig at the bank. As Maeven and Billy stepped out of his Camaro, he stood close to her with his hand on the small of her back. It was something that usually kept her calm, but he did so in a way so that no one in their family would notice.

“You’re gonna be fine, okay? Just keep your head down, and don’t give anyone a reason to stare at you.”

Again; easier said than done.

Maeven just nodded, lingering on the comforting feeling even after he pulled his hand away from her back. She tightened the straps of her backpack onto her shoulders, thinking how she probably looked like a total geek right now bringing her backpack to school when she hadn’t even started classes, yet.

Walking to the front office of the high school was oddly refreshing to her. She had always liked being in school. She loved learning and the feeling the environment gave her. Maeven just wasn’t always a fan of the people who inhabited them; especially when they were teenagers.

As they walked up to the front desk, Susan took the initiative and leaned on the front counter as she waited for the secretary to notice her.

“Hi, there! Can I help you?”

“Yes, I’m Susan Hargrove. My kids are starting here tomorrow and-”

“Not your kid, Susan,” Billy interrupted, making sure to sound as stern as possible. It caught Susan off-guard as she flinched and turned to him, giving a timid smile. It was a little scary to Maeven and Max how much he sounded like his father at that moment.

“Of course. My daughters and stepson are starting here tomorrow and we were told we’d be given a tour of campus,” she elaborated to the secretary.

“Oh, yes! Give me just a minute,” she said, turning to her phone.

Maeven clasped her hands in front of her as she swung her hips slightly to make her long skirt twirl. Max crossed her arms and tapped her fingers.

“Sir. Mrs. Hargrove and her kids are here to see you.”

Maeven could tell by the look on Billy’s face that he wanted to correct his relation to the Mayfields again. She knew why; he was still bitter about his mother, and she didn’t blame him. As much as he hated her for leaving him the way she did, she was still his mom. He would always miss and love her. He was determined not to let Susan take her place.

The sisters tapped their feet in annoyance. How well did these phones work? How talkative was this principal that he made his secretary stay on the line for so long?

“Mmmhmm. Alright. You can head on in, Down the hall, last door on the right,” she finally replied, hanging up the phone. Max let out a sigh that said ‘finally!’ Maeven wasn’t as vocal, but she felt the same.

“Thank you.”

Susan took the lead as they followed the secretary’s directions, knocking on the door before entering. Maeven took a look at the plaque by the door; Principal John Higgins. She knew a kid with that last name once. He looked like a principal, as if he was born to be one. She was curious to see what kind he was; an uncaring hardass with a god complex or a decent person who actually saw his students as people.

“You must be Susan. Principal Higgins. We spoke on the phone last week?” He reached out to shake her hand.

“Billy.”

“Yes, hi. Nice to meet you.” she smiled widely as she accepted it.

“And this must be Margaret, William, and Maxine?” he guessed.

“Maeven.”

“Max.”

They all corrected in unison. 

“Of course. My apologies. Please, have a seat.” He was a bit overwhelmed but pretended not to be as he gestured to the chairs and couch by his desk. Susan and Billy sat in the office chairs while the sisters sat on the black and yellow checkered couch. Maeven pawed at the backpack in her lap, bouncing her leg and scratching her hands.

“I’m sure you won’t find this school any different than your last one,” Higgins said, pulling out three separate manilla folders. “But, it might not be what you’re quite used to all the way down in sunny California.”

“It’s definitely a lot smaller,” Susan laughed, putting on her smile as Billy rolled his eyes. He leaned back in the chair, his legs spread wide as if he owned the place. His sudden attempt at displaying his brawn made Higgins clear his throat.

“So, Billy. From your transcript, I can see you’re the average student and have some trouble with authority. But it seems that in California, you were quite the star athlete.”

“Yes, sir,” he smiled.”Quarterback, Designated Hitter, and Power Forward.”

Maeven had experienced attraction to all kinds of people, no matter their clique. She had gone on dates with jocks before, even if she found most of them to be jerks. But Billy stood out. It bugged her that she could never the exact reason why.

“Perfect, son. Sports are an important part of the culture here, so I’m sure you’ll fit right in,” Higgins said, closing the file before opening another, turning his head to the younger of the Mayfield sisters.

“And, Max. I can see you’re also an average student. But you do seem to be exceptional when it comes to math. We have clubs and tutoring programs where I’m sure you’ll be welcome. Been in trouble a few times, but nothing too extreme. I know starting a new school at your age can be scary and frustrating. Am I going to have any trouble with you?”

Max blew her hair out of her face, her arms still crossed. She had never been one for clubs, but who knows? Maybe that would change at Hawkins

“As long as no one else here dumps their crap on me, I’ll be good.”

“Max!” her mother scolded her. Billy and Maeven chuckled as she gave her little sister a playful slap on the arm.

“No worries, Mrs. Hargrove. I’ve heard worse. I’ll take that as a ‘no.’” Higgins laughed.

Maeven’s file came last, which made her heartbeat quicken a little. She knew he wouldn’t be as lighthearted and upbeat as he was with Billy and Max.

“I understand there are some matters you and Margaret wish to inform me about privately,” he said. All eyes in the room were now turned to Maeven as she squeezed her backpack. She hated when that happened; it fueled the fire of paranoia in her.

“Yes, sir,” Susan answered for her daughter once she recognized she wouldn’t speak for herself.

“Billy, Max, why don’t you two go wait outside?” Higgins turned to them. “This shouldn’t take long. Doris should have your class schedules ready for you.”

Max gave her big sister a calming squeeze on her hand. Billy shot her an encouraging nod of his head and a wink of his baby blue eyes that made her stomach flutter and thighs squeeze together instinctively. As they left the room, Maeven switched herself over to the chair Billy previously occupied.

“Now, Mar-Sorry, Maeven. I understand that you’re a repeating junior. From what your mother tells me, you had sort of a tough time last year.”

Susan turned to her daughter when she didn’t answer Principal Higgins. Maeven kept bouncing her leg as she scratched the back of her hand with her nails until the skin was red. She hated when she did that; mainly because it came off as rude to those unaware of her. . .condition. It also broke her heart to see her little girl hurt herself, especially when it would bleed and scab. Susan reached her hands out to her daughter, one steadying her leg while the other rested atop her hands to stop her scratching.

“Sorry. She’s a little shy,” she apologized, bringing Maeven out of her self-induced trance.

“Yes, sir. I am. I mean. . .I did,” Maeven softly said.

“That’s certainly not a problem,” he stated, looking over her file. “I called Newport High last week and spoke with a few of your teachers. They all said you were a pleasure to have in class and your test scores are. . .intimidating. But they said that around the second semester, you sort of. . .lost your way?”

It was nice to hear that the staff back at her old school still thought about her that way. Although, Maeven wouldn’t blame them if they happened to feel anything negative toward her. Her decline in the social and academic hierarchy and eventual expulsion weren’t exactly a pretty sight to witness.

“Yeah. . .that sounds fair,” she replied.

“I can understand that,” Higgins said, seemingly empathizing with her. It was oddly refreshing. “We have a few other kids here who’ve had to repeat grades due to their struggles in life. I see you have a history of fighting and skipping classes, and that you’ve dealt with emotional problems in the past.”

Before Maeven could say anything, her mother interjected.

“She has, yes, but she is doing much better, sir. We’re hoping a change of scenery will help with that.”

Susan and Higgins didn’t need to pry further, as Maeven knew what they were talking about. She hated when her mother did that, refusing to talk about her daughter’s past of pain as if it was more devastating for her.

“Slap her, Maeven. You know you want to,” the voice instructed, but Maeven just shook it off, literally; her head and body twitched almost as if she was seizing before stilling itself. She gave her mom a reassuring nod before turning her attention back to Higgins.

“I’m not looking to cause any trouble here, sir. I plan to stay focused on my grades this time around. I promise,” she smiled, trying her best to imitate the one her mother used.

“That’s good to hear. You seem to have been an over-achiever back at Newport, so we have more than a couple of clubs that’ll keep you out of trouble. We have a science fair in the spring, and from what your teachers told me, you’ll win first prize. Of course, I still expect you to meet with the school Counselor, Miss Kelly, once a week.”

“Yeah. I’m good with that,” Maeven nodded.

“That’s what I like to hear. Lastly, you’ll be needing accommodations due to your. . .condition?”

Once again, Maeven could tell exactly what he was referring to. It wasn’t that much of a surprise that a middle-aged white principal didn’t want to speak so openly to one of his students about how painfully crippling her periods had become these last nine months. And, of course, her brain condition wasn’t exactly easy for those outside a doctor’s office to comprehend.

“Yes, I do. Is that okay?”

“I’m not able to provide them all, but I can help you with most of them,” he stated, handing Maeven a laminated Hawkins High hall pass with her name at the top and his signature at the bottom.

“Here’s a hall pass for your classes when you’re. I put down a note so that all your teachers will allow you to take tests under the supervision of the school librarian. Unfortunately, I cannot grant you an all-access hall pass; too much opportunity for it to be abused. I’m sure you’re a good kid, but I just can’t afford to take the risk.”

Again, she wasn’t surprised at this. Maeven figured she wouldn’t get an all-access pass for when her brain decided to shut down or go full panic mode out of the blue. Her father’s motto was always ‘ It never hurts to ask.’ Maybe it wouldn’t be so hard for people to understand someday, but not today. She had no choice but to power through.

“It’s alright. Completely understandable,” she lied.

Principal Higgins closed her file before getting up from his desk to put it in a random drawer. When he led Susan and Maeven out to the front office, Max and Billy were chatting with three other students.

“Oh, good! I see you’ve already met,” he announced himself. The kids all stood up from the benches and chairs, turning themselves towards him. Maeven shrugged her backpack over her shoulder as she stood between Max and Billy. She gave her little sister a pat on the back that she instinctually returned.

“I thought it’d be helpful for you guys to meet a couple of your classmates before tomorrow. They’ll be giving you a tour,” Higgins spoke.

Maeven bit her lip. When she pictured the day as she woke up that morning, she didn’t anticipate meeting other kids face to face immediately. She figured there might be students around campus, but didn’t plan on meeting any new kids her age until tomorrow. She didn’t prepare for this, and Maeven dreaded being unprepared.

The mismatched siblings stood in a row of three facing their future classmates in the same formation. 

“Billy, Maeven, this is Steve Harrington and Nancy Wheeler. And Max, this is Jennifer Hayes. Guys, this is Billy Hargrove and Maeven and Max Mayfield.”

Maeven took them in one by one, sizing them up.

Jennifer looked and seemed friendly enough. She seemed like the classic social butterfly; a good girl who surrounded herself with as many people as possible. However, those kinds of people, more often than not, were more shallow than they liked to admit. Maeven had experienced that first-hand in Middle School. Besides, she seemed too girly to be a friend of her baby sister.

“Hi,” she waved at Max.

“She seems boring. Basic. Max definitely won’t get along with her,” the voice whispered. Maeven looked down before rolling her eyes, not wanting to draw attention to herself before her eyes met Nancy’s.

Nancy had a similar vibe to Jennifer with a few key differences. Unlike the middle schooler, she seemed more like the type of girl who had a small inner circle of close friends. She dressed like a scholar, like the model student of an exclusive all-girls boarding school. Nancy was also classically pretty; big doe eyes with dark hair that framed her head like a crown. She reminded Maeven of her friend, Madeleine.

“. . .hi,” she squeaked out, eyes wide. She looked like she saw a ghost.

“She knows how crazy you are. Look at her, she’s terrified.”

“How could she know?” she vocalized in her head, trying her best not to let her paranoia get the better of her. There was no way this absolute stranger could know of her instability.

“People have their ways. You never know.”

Finally, Maeven’s eyes landed on Steve.

“Hey,” he muttered, pushing his soft, chestnut hair back innocently. Meanwhile, Maeven fought to keep her body cool.

“Oh, my fuck, he’s cute,” the voice expressed. For once, it said something she could agree with. 

Steve Harrington was almost so pretty that it hurt. He had the same cocky and suave charm that attracted her to Billy in the first place. He was also about the same height as Billy, and Maeven could tell just by the way he carried himself that he was a jock. Unlike the other jocks she met, his charisma seemed to stem from a place of kindness.

"He's checking you out,” the voice teased in her ear, sending a shiver down Maeven’s spine and filling her with that familiar sense of warm longing.“You should take him and Billy to the janitor's closet so they can fuck you.”

"What!? No! What is wrong with you!?"

"He'll like you more if you let him use you."

"Be fucking quiet!" she internally yelled, silencing it. Maeven hid her hands in the sleeves of her sweater as she held them together, one gripping the cuff while the other scratched the top of it. She held in her anxiety, giving the others a soft, shy smile.

“Why don’t you guys take your tours and we’ll meet back here in a half hour?” Higgins asked. Everyone nodded as the students walked out of the office and into the hall. One way led outside to the Middle School, while the other led down to the rest of the High School halls.

“See you in a bit, squirt,” Billy laughed at Max, reaching up to give her a condescending pat on the head. Max slapped his hand away as she pointed at her sister.

“Hey, only she gets to call me that,” she warned, as threateningly as a small middle schooler could be.

“Whatever,” he scoffed, turning his nose up before following Maeven and the others.

. . .

Everything was less intimidating once Maeven got a closer look as they walked around. The campus seemed well taken care of despite its age. Newport had a more mid-century modern style, all neat and smooth with underwhelming geometric themes. It felt more like a fancy museum than a school. Hawkins High was different. It was charming. Maeven could feel the history built into every cracked brick or tile and dented locker. The halls were lined with character.

The group of teens walked stiffly down the hallways of the high school, relaxing their posture when the principal and Mrs. Hargrove were no longer in their sight or within hearing range. This Steve Harrington guy was the one who finally broke the silence.

“So, Higgins said that you guys are from California?” he asked, turning to Maeven and Billy.

“Mmm-hmm,” Billy mumbled. It was clear to Maeven that he was still feeling out Steve’s vibe. He seemed nice enough, possibly another athlete like Billy; they shared body types, both having defined muscles and the classic upside-down Dorito figures. Steve was maybe just an inch shorter than Billy, though.

“Is it nice down there?” he followed up.

“Definitely better than here,” he scoffed, eyes off of Steve like he didn’t even exist to him. Billy wasn’t willing to be too friendly with him. It wasn’t often that he connected with someone right away, and Harrington was no different than the others. The only person he had that naturally and quickly ignited the chemistry between them was Maeven

“Super. . .” Steve uncomfortably droned out.

Maeven’s eyes focused on Nancy, who still looked at her as if she was face-to-face with someone she shouldn’t be. She wondered what it was about her that gave her such a fright. Was it the way she dressed? The way she carried herself? Maybe it was the way she fidgeted with her hands. How she twirled the loose threads of her sweater around her fingers?  Maybe she just generally gave off an unsettling vibe. She couldn’t tell, anymore.

“You’re scaring her, you know? You’re being so quiet and you keep looking at her. She probably thinks you’re a secret serial killer,”

“But I’m not a-”

“Not yet, you’re not. But you could still become one. You have all the qualifications; insane, suicidal, anger issues, unhealthy obsessions with blood, and sex. Not to mention you already have one vict-. . .”

Maeven tore her eyes away from Nancy, instead choosing to focus on the dents in the lockers and the green and orange stripes on the wall. Her sudden change in perspective cut off her inner monster. She couldn’t tell if she looked elsewhere out of respect for Nancy’s comfort, or if it was so she wouldn’t see the tears pooling up in the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill. She would not break down in front of these new people, she decided.

Nancy clapped her hands together with enthusiasm as the group stopped at the entrance of the cafeteria.

“So!” she broke the awkward silence, gently taking hold of Steve’s wrist before dragging him along with her. “Uhmm, obviously this is the cafeteria,” she said, using her other hand to gesture around her like the lady on Wheel of Fortune.

The cafeteria was probably just a little smaller than the one at Newport. Obviously, there were a lot less students here. It also had a lot more windows and natural lighting with a door that swung lead out to more lunch tables. There was also a stage against the wall at the far end of it, which Maeven assumed was where the theatre department was. Newport had its auditorium for plays, recitals, and school debates, but Maeven liked how humble Hawkins High was turning out to be so far.

What appeared to be the school’s group of Band Kids gathered on the stage and the surrounding lunch tables. Some were tuning and practicing their instruments, while others were simply chatting and taking a break. The gold and white tassels on the green uniforms caught Maevens eye, especially when they were worn by the cute dark-blonde, almost red-haired girl with dusted freckles and dark blue eyes. She let out a laugh that seemed contagious. Maeven was suddenly reminded of a girl she played seven minutes in Heaven with at a party during her freshman year. She turned away once she realized she was staring back, pointing her head down as her face tinted pink.

“Those are our band kids over there, gearing up for homecoming,” Nancy continued, gesturing around her as Billy and Maeven followed her and Steve. “If you guys want a good seat, I would plan on getting here as early as possible. Also because the earlier you get here, the better chance you have of your food being edible.”

“Noted,” Billy nodded. 

School lunches and their edibility varied from school to school, district to district. Maeven was planning on bringing her lunch, anyways. Maybe she’d try it one day once she was more comfortable.

“That’s also the stage where they put on plays and musicals,” Steve pointed out as they walked back into the hallway. “It hasn’t been announced yet what the winter play will be, but we actually have normal theatre kids here if you can believe it. They were really annoying when we were in middle school, but. . .I guess they grew out of that?”

Steve Harrington didn’t seem like a theatre kid, but he had the energy of one.

Maeven eyed the way Nancy and Steve held hands and stayed close to each other as the group walked down the hallway. They did look pretty cute together, she couldn’t deny that. But they seemed too much like a cliche. Then again, who was Maeven to judge them? She was probably the farthest thing from a cliche one could ever be. Still, there seemed to be more than meets the eye in their relationship; Maeven couldn’t quite place her finger on it, but she knew it was there.

Steve opened the right of the double wooden doors that lead into the school gym. Again, it was smaller than the one Maeven was used to back in California. But it had its charm. There were a group of guys on the far side shooting hoops and practicing dribbling with each other. On the other side was a group of cheerleaders stretching their muscles and practicing their routine.

Maeven didn’t mind seeing the basketball team and their muscles sweating with activity, and she absolutely didn’t mind seeing the cheer squad in their short twirling skirts as they practiced. She was particularly intrigued by the cheerleader with strawberry blonde hair in a high ponytail and a smile that could light up a room of depressed people. She looked like a Barbie doll come to life. The way she seemed to put her whole spirit into the routine made it more like watching a ballet show; it was mesmerizing. Maeven found herself fantasizing that if she met her while in inpatient treatment, she probably would’ve recovered faster.

“This is the gym,” Steve said. “We hold all our gym classes, practices, pep rallies, and basketball games here. We have football and baseball, too, but they’re not as popular.”

“So basketball is your official religion around here. Got it,” Maeven spoke up with a soft giggle at the end. Steve and Nancy turned to smile at her. When she wondered why, she realized this was the first time she uttered a word since the tour began.

Steve seemed to be the most taken aback at the sound of Maeven’s voice, laughing at her joke. “Yeah, I guess you could say that. Do, uhm. . .do either of you play?” he asked, gesturing to Maeven and Billy.

“Uh-uh,” Maeven shook her head.

“Yeah. I’ve played before,” Billy mentioned, shrugging his shoulders. Like a lot of boys his age, he channeled all his energy and unchecked rage and aggression into playing High School sports. Despite wearing the stereotypical jock persona, he was also a metalhead. He and Maeven spent their first few weeks together doing nothing but getting high in his Camaro and thrashing along to the radio in an attempt to vent their shared frustration.

Maeven eyed the logo with the school mascot on the wall; Go Hawkins Tigers! It was a bit faded, maybe needing a fresh coat of paint. She wondered if maybe they’d let her paint a mural for the school as she did at Newport. She would ask them later. . .maybe.

“It’s kind of a missed opportunity that they’re the Hawkins High Tigers and not the Hawkins High Hawks,” the voice in her head laughed. Maeven chuckled at the joke she told herself. It was rare that she and her inner voice agreed with each other. When they did work together, it was usually to both their benefit.

“It’s kinda-

“You any good at it?” Steve said, accidentally cutting Maeven off.

“Compared to those little pussies, yeah,” Billy scoffed as he pointed toward the basketball team. It was clear that a few of them were new at this, missing hoops, tripping on their own feet, and losing the rhythm of their dribbles.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to cut you off,” Steve apologized, turning back to Maeven.

“Say something, Maeven. They’re all looking at you.” the voice whispered, spiking Maeven’s heart rate and making her palms clam up.

“No, it’s fine,” she stated, shaking her head to brush off the nervousness. “I was. . .I don’t even remember what I was gonna say,” she laughed, trying to trick herself into thinking so.

“Yeah, she’s a little forgetful, aren’t ya Mae-Mae?” Billy laughed, tussling her hair before sneakily moving his hand down to cup the small of her back again where no one would notice.

“Yeah. . .sorry. . .”

Both Steve and Nancy looked at each other before turning back to Maeven, confused at her apology.

“What? It’s fine. Don’t worry about it,” Nancy laughed, reassuringly touching Maeven’s arm,

“You apologized when you didn’t need to again, you stupid bitch.”

. . .

Before Billy could even think about challenging the basketball kids in the gym, Steve and Nancy moved the tour forward. Maeven had her sketchpad and a gel pen in her hand, mapping out the school as the group continued walking. Gel pens were her preferred writing tool, as she loved the sensation in her hands when she conducted the ink. She made sure to include all the turns in the hallways and possible shortcuts, including all the exits in case she ever found herself in a situation when and where she needed to haul ass out of there. Maeven always needed a plan to protect herself in case things went wrong again, in case she got bad again.

Steve and Billy walked side by side as Maeven and Nancy were a few feet behind them. The boys walked in an awkward conversation as Billy kept pushing Steve’s buttons; it was one of his favorite pastimes. Although Maeven was too focused on the school and her developing map to hear exactly what they talked about, she could only guess that Billy took charge of the discussion like he always did.

“I um. . .I thought your name was Margaret?”

Nancy’s sudden question caused Maeven’s hand to jerk slightly and mess up a line on her map. She clenched her jaw in anoyance; she would fix that and give herself a proper punishment later. Instead, she soaked her tears of frustration into her eyes and turned to Nancy.

“It is. Maeven’s my middle name,” she clarified.

“It’s. . .nice. Unique. Scottish?” Nancy asked, much to Maeven’s surprise. She was half right.

“Irish, actually. On my dad’s side. My mom’s the Scottish one,” she replied.

The two girls turned their heads forward, watching as Billy pushed Steve just a little too hard as he let out a laugh. Steve stumbled on his feet a little before regaining balance and continued walking as if nothing just happened. To him, it was just another jock with an obnoxious personality; it was nothing new to him.

“Your brother seems. . .nice?” Nancy said, unsure how Maeven would take her honest opinion.

“When he wants to be. And he’s my stepbrother,” she said before they turned left at the next forked hallway, making another note on her map.

“Oh, okay. That makes more sense,” Nancy realized aloud as if a puzzle in her head was finally completed.

“Why?”

“No offense, but. . .” Nancy trailed off, eyeing Billy up and down before doing the same with Maeven. “you look nothing alike and you don’t act like brother and sister,” she pointed out, gesturing at their clear differences.

“None taken, Nancy. Actually, it’s a compliment,” Maeven laughed, bookmarking her place in her sketchbook with her thumb as she closed it.

Nancy had been eyeing Maeven for the entire duration of the tour for two reasons. One; she wasn’t what she was expecting when Principal Higgins asked her to show a new honor student around. Maeven didn’t carry herself with pride and confidence the way others would. She certainly took no effort in trying to dress up for the role. However, she definitely seemed to be quiet and introverted, but also nice personality that reminded her of Barb.

That brought her to reason number two; this new girl reminded her so much of her departed friend so much it almost hurt. And it wasn’t just the vibrant shade of ginger hair that made her sentimental and nostalgic. It was in the way she could focus her attention on whatever she seemed to be working on. Nancy still didn’t know much about Maeven, but she almost had her believing in reincarnation. She had to remind herself that Barb was gone, and that reincarnation didn’t work like that even if it was real. 

She made a vow to herself not to compare the two of them, anymore, even if the resemblance was uncanny.

“So. . .Higgins said you were on the honor roll back at your old school,” Nancy said, changing the subject.

“Yeah. For a lot of things, but. . .mostly science,” Maeven answered. Nancy noticed the stickers on her sketchbook that consisted of various flowers and animals, as well as a few skulls of various species. Barb wanted to be an Astronomer after she graduated. They would’ve gotten along.

“Maybe you’ll be able to get through to Steve better than me,” Nancy suggested.

“He has trouble with science?”

“A little bit of everything. He’s more of a ‘sports and parties’ guy.”

Taking in what Nancy told her and the way Steve acted with both her and Billy, Maeven nodded in agreement. “Yeah. I can see that. Especially with that hair.”

In California, the more popular of the students at Maeven’s school treated their hair like a crown of pure gold atop their heads. It’s part of what attracted her to Billy in the first place. She found it hot when people took care of themselves and took pride in their appearances. 

Maeven was a little jealous that Nancy got to run her hands through Steve’s cloud-soft hair and she couldn’t. But she had Billy. She had Billy. She needed to keep reminding herself of that; she had Billy and she didn’t need anyone else.

“Yep. King Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington,” Nancy chuckled with air–quotes. Maeven almost choked on her saliva.

“What the fuck?” she laughed

“That’s what everyone calls him,” Nany explained. It certainly wasn’t the cleverest nickname Maeven had heard throughout High School, but it was definitely fitting to Steve. And it was interesting to find out that he was apparently voted the ‘King of Hawkins High’. Did that make Nancy the Queen?

“Are you serious? That’s hilarious. It suits him,” Maeven observed.

“What’re you planning on doing after graduation?” Nancy wondered aloud. Maeven’s head perked up as she answered almost immediately.

“Environmental Science. I wanna work for the National Parks Service in Wildlife Conservation,” she explained.

This was the first time Nancy noticed the way Maeven’s eyes lit up with wonder. She seemed almost like a completely different person when talking about something she loved. The fact that she was so self-assured in her future choice of career was something Nancy envied. She had good grades, sure. But starting her Junior Year of High School still having no clue what she wanted out of her life was incredibly weighing on her shoulders. 

“Woah, that's. . .” Nancy trailed off, struggling to find her words.

“Weird?” Maeven finished for her, silently preparing to go back into her shell. But Nancy stopped her before she could; she liked this new girl.

“I was gonna say ‘different.’ A lot of the other girls here say ‘supermodel’ or ‘actress,’” she explained.

Those were common dream jobs she heard back at Newport. She had also heard ‘makeup artist,’ ‘director,’ and ‘musician.’ Her girlfriends back in California had different dreams. Emily wanted to be a teacher, Madison wanted to run her family’s marijuana farm. Cassandra wanted to create special effects for horror movies. 

Maeven was surprised that Nancy didn’t add ‘Princess’ to that list.

“Are a lot of the other girls here boring basic bitches?” Maeven joked.

“No. . .well. . .maybe they are, but not all of them,” Nancy replied. “My friend Barb, she wants. . .wanted to be an astronomer.”

Maeven’s head perked up at the mere idea of another science geek at this school. Her dad had an old telescope and used to take her and Max on trips where they could see the night sky clearer.

“Really? That’s pretty badass, actually. You’ll have to introduce her to me tomorrow,” she suggested, to which Nancy seemed to almost freeze on sight.

“Oh, actually, she’s. . .not around anymore,” she told Maeven, biting back the familiar burning sensation of oncoming tears.

“That’s a shame. It would’ve been nice to know another brainiac,” Maeven said.

“Well, you still have me, here,”  Nancy laughed, grateful that she didn’t cry. Maeven’s heart rate spiked almost immediately at her reply, anxiety filling up her lungs almost like she was drowning.

“Great job, you little bitch. You just insulted her. She’s not gonna want to be your friend now,” the voice taunted.

“Oh, no, no, no. That’s absolutely not what I meant at all, Nancy. I’m sorry,” she stuttered out, her face heating up and her breath growing heavy. 

Nancy’s brow furrowed in uncertainty. Why was Maeven getting so upset? She didn’t do anything wrong. She placed her hand on the new girl’s back, confused and worried when she flinched at her touch.

“Woah, woah. It’s fine, Maeven. You’re good,” she reassured, feeling her heartbeat slowing from her back beneath her palm.

“Sorry,” Maeven panted out, catching her breath as her gripped her sketchbook like a vice.

“Okay, I’ll forgive you if you stop apologizing,” Nancy laughed out.

“Alright, so-. . .thank you,” Maeven corrected herself, finally finding her bearings. Nothing was ruined. Everything was fine. She did nothing wrong. Nancy said so herself.

“Anyway, what’re you doing after you graduate?” she asked, changing the subject.

“I. . .honestly, I’m not sure,” Nancy admitted. It was the first time she said it aloud.

“That’s alright. You’ve got time.”

“Yeah,” she sighed. It didn’t feel like Nancy had time, even if she was two years away from graduation. All she was certain of was that she didn’t want to walk the same path as her parents.

. . .

Steve held the door open to the library, letting the others walk through. Libraries were easily Maeven’s favorite place in any school. She could spend hours exploring the collection of knowledge each one held.

“And this is the library. It’s usually the busiest when we have Study Hall. Other than that, it’s pretty quiet,” Nancy said.

“It’s nice,” Maeven pointed out, tapping her fingernails against the hardwood table. She found that most libraries were neutral territory; always a little colder than the rest of the rooms in schools and smelled pretty nice despite the fact that some of the books held there were old and dusty. She could picture herself spending a lot of time here, even in the afternoons after school let out. That is if Billy wasn’t too impatient to get driving her and Max home out of the way.

“Yeah, I bet I’m probably gonna find you in here a lot,” Billy joked, playfully nudging Maeven’s arm. He turned to Steve and Nancy. “She’s a bit of a nerd,” he said, pointing at her like it was a big secret.

“I like school. What can I say?”

“No one likes school, Maeven,” Billy laughed at her as they left the library. Nancy noticed the way Maeven seemed to shrink into herself whenever he talked about her, and found herself wondering why.

Nearing the end of the tour as they continued down the halls, Maeven turned back to the map in her sketchbook, marking down the library. The group suddenly stopped at the sound of a shrill, clearly annoyed voice coming from the nearby classroom. Maeven flinched, almost dropping her sketchbook.

“I expect to see you back here next Sunday, Munson! I got you for the next four weeks and I’d rather not see you after that!”

The door to the classroom practically slammed open, making Maeven jump again. Out walked the other end of that seemingly dreadful conversation; a tall boy with a leather jacket and a denim vest with many hand-sewn patches.

“Oh, come on! I know you’d miss me sooner or later, McGrady!” he laughed, tripping over his own feet before regaining his balance and leaning against the set of lockers across from the classroom.

He was a metalhead; that much was obvious, donning a Black Sabbath shirt with ripped jeans and silver rings decorating his fingers. Maeven could see him and Billy getting along. They clearly had the same taste in music, but this Munson guy didn’t seem like the type to hang around jocks due to the way he eyed Steve up and down with purse distaste.

 Even if she only observed him for ten seconds, Maeven could tell that he was a troublemaker. He acted awfully confident and cocky for someone who still had a month of weekend detentions to get through. 

She also couldn’t deny that this guy was an absolute specimen of a human being; his wide brown eyes and the dimples in his smooth cheeks complimented his strong jawline. The bottom locks of his dark brown hair were a little uneven and choppy, stopping just above his soldiers similar to the way hers was. Again, Maeven liked pretty boys; the boys who almost had feminine features and weren’t afraid to show them off.

And of course, he had to have tattoos. She only caught a glimpse of what appeared to be a cluster of bats on his right arm, but it was enough to send a warm chill throughout her body as she squeezed her thighs together. Maeven found her mind lustfully wandering through the possibility of ghosting her fingers over the ink on his skin that no one else saw.

“Munson,” Steve acknowledged him, passively.

“Harrington,” he replied with a wide, teasing smile before turning his eyes to Billy, nodding, “Guy I’ve never seen before.” he nodded.

As he collected his backpack from the ground and turned to pass the group, he turned to Nancy and Maeven; the first giving him a half-smile laced with annoyed tolerance, while the second just stared. It wasn’t in a rude way, though. Maeven observed Munson with widely curious eyes, reminding him of an owl. As he walked past them, he playfully held out his arm and gave a short bow, the same way a gentleman would allow a woman to pass sixty years or so ago. 

“Ladies,” he excused himself before walking the other way. His frivolous demeanor and spirited attitude made Maeven blush, prompting her to bring up her sketchbook up just below her eyes. She huffed out a small laugh as she watched him walk out the double doors, a strange spring in his step.

“Who the fuck was that guy?” Billy asked, looking at Nancy and Steve.

“Nobody important,” Steve rolled his eyes.

. . .

By the time Steve and Nancy finished giving Billy and Maeven the tour, they were n the completely opposite side of the building from where the main office was. 

“Aaaand I guess that’s pretty much it,” Steve concluded, clapping his hands together. “But I suggest you stay away from the woods by the bleachers over there. It’s where our resident freak over there likes to deal.” 

They stopped at the end of a long hallway next to a set of bathrooms and double doors leading out to the football field. Steve warily gestured to the dark woods nestling behind the rusty, silver bleachers.

Maeven wanted to ask for more clarification, but Billy beat her to it.

“You mean drugs?” he laughed

“Yeah. It’s that crazy guy we saw who just got out of detention. I’d steer clear of him. He got held back,” Nancy answered.

Maeven decided to file that piece of information under ‘private’ for a later date. Even if she didn’t plan on being open about it, it was a little more reassuring that she wouldn’t be the only repeat in school this year. And now she knew who to flag down with a private note in a locker when she needed to replenish her stash.

“Noted. I’mma go take a leak,” Billy announced. Nancy handed her purse to Steve, who willingly accepted it.

“I have to go, too. I’ll be right back,” she smiled, leaning up to give him a small peck on the cheek.

“‘Kay.” Steve muttered, giving her a small rub on her back before waving her off. That left him and the new girl in silence by the doors.

She was leaning on her shoulder on the glass window of the door, focussing her attention down in her sketchbook as she raised one leg behind her to give it a break from walking for so long. The glass of the window chilled her cheek as she rested against it, making her arm stim as she shook the feeling off. Her abrupt and random movement caused Steve’s eyebrows to knit. To him, it seemed like her arm was possessed for a split second. Then again, he had definitely seen stranger things happen.

“Aren’t you gonna go rub one out in the bathroom?” the voice suddenly asked Maeven, who gripped her pen in frustration.

“Not with Nancy in there,” she silently replied. “What if she tries to talk to me? I’ll do it when I get home.”

“You’ve touched yourself before with other girls in the stalls next to you. You should’ve done it in the shower this morning. If you don’t go now, you’re gonna regret it later,” it taunted.

“I said ‘no.’”

“Suit yourself.”

“So, your brother seems. . .”

“Step-brother,” Maeven corrected Steve, not breaking her gaze on her sketchbook. She finished her map and drew a little marijuana leaf near the woods as a reference for herself. She would color it when she got home, as well as the rest of the school with her many art materials.

“Your stepbrother seems like. . .kind of an ass?” Steve phrased it like a question, testing the waters before he could dive straight in. Maeven found herself laughing. Steve definitely wasn’t sugar-coating it.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tattle on you. He is kind of a prick, sometimes,” she laughed, closing her sketchbook before tucking it into her backpack. She turned to lean her back against the doors as she teetered on her heels, crossing one foot in front of the other as she held her hands together

Steve looked down at her feet, taking notice of the number of scuff marks and the painted white stars on the toes of Maeven’s doc martens. She wore colorfully mismatched socks with random stripes and designs. He caught a small glimpse of the fishnet tights underneath them, pondering at her unique combination.

“Soooo, uh. . .why do they call you Maeven?” He casually asked, not really knowing what else he could say. 

“I’m named after my aunt Maggie, but it gets confusing. Maeven’s my middle name,” she replied, twirling the loose threads of her sweater around her fingers.

“Oh, okay. Got it,” Steve nodded, followed by another awkward silence. 

Maeven wasn’t exactly the type of person Steve would chose to hang out with in his spare time. He couldn’t even really pinpoint what she was all about. This girl was obviously an intelligent over-achiever, but seemed so withdrawn and quiet up close and personal. Most smart kids he met were major attention seekers. For someone who dressed in such a hardcore manner, she wasn’t loud and angry and actually seemed very nice. She was also apparently an artsy nerd indicated by the stickers on her sketchbook and Billy’s earlier comment. Steve wondered if she would get along with Mike and his friends. But he didn’t understand why Billy seemed so fond of her. She seemed more of the type to hang out with freaks like Munson.

“So, you and Nancy? You guys seem happy,” Maeven observed, bringing Steve’s train of thought off-track. It took him a moment to process and answer her.

“Yeah,” he perked up, suddenly grateful that the silence was over. “We’ve been going out for a little over a year now,” Steve reminisced.

“Nice,” Maeven gave him a closed-mouth smile with an added nod. It was reassuring that she noticed him and Nancy without knowing anything prior; it meant the sparks were still there. . .weren’t they?

“What’s it like in California?” he wondered aloud. Maeven’s eyes left his for a moment and she gathered her thoughts.

“A lot bigger. . .and sunnier. Also not as chilly in the fall as it is here.” she told Steve. She found it odd that she never really realized how overwhelmingly warm it was in California until she was moved across the country. It felt nice, though; like a breath of fresh air.

“Yeah. I bet you have a lot more to do there than here,” Steve guessed. He could only really imagine. He had barely tread outside Indiana his whole life, let alone Hawkins. Sure, he was interested in the world outside his home town, but was perfectly content staying right where he was.

“Well, we may have malls and skyscrapers, yeah. But it's packed with people,” Maeven explained, unwrapping the thread from her finger to let the blood flow back in.

“It’s a big state. Hawkins must be a big downgrade,” Steve humbled himself and his home town. He was well aware Hawkins wasn’t really anyone’s first choice.

“Not necessarily,” Maeven counter-argued.

“You like it here?”

“It’s growing on me; a change in temperature, lots of woods surrounding us, not as crowded. What more could I ask for?”

Maeven found the town of Hawkins, Indiana weirdly endearing; a nice change from the overwhelming suffocation of city life, even if she did happen to sense a strange vibe from it. Still, Steve pressed on. He found it hard to believe that she found Hawkins more exciting than California, of all places.

“What part of the state are you from?”

“San Diego. Well, also a little bit from San Francisco,” Maeven told him.

“Really? How does that work?”

“When you’re parents are divorced,” she casually said. Her reply hit a nerve in Steve. 

His parent’s weren’t divorced, so he couldn’t exactly relate. But as far as he was concerned, they should be split up. His mom obviously didn’t trust his father to go anywhere without being under her supervision, lest he ends up seducing other women. That wasn’t what a marriage was supposed to be. Steve promised himself that his and Nancy’s would be different; better.

“So. . .I’m guessing your mom married Billy’s dad?” he guessed. When he saw her mother and sister earlier, he could definitely see the resemblance.

“Yeah. They’ve been together for about ten months now,” Maeven said, to which Steve was taken aback.

“Woah, okay.”

“What?”

“Just seems a little fast. That’s all,” he pointed out. He was raised to believe that you had to court someone for at least a year before even considering marriage.

“It is, yeah. Trust me. I didn’t even find out they were engaged until after they got married,” Maeven rolled her eyes.

“Seriously?” Steve tried to suppress his laugh, which Maeven joined in on.

He was surprised she didn’t seem more pissed about it. He certainly would be if he was forced into that situation.

“No offense, but, uhm. . .how did you miss that?”

“Don’t mention that you were in the looney bin for three months. He’s not gonna want to be your friend anymore if he thinks you’re crazy. He already saw you twitch your arm,” the voice warned her.

“I was. . .busy. I kinda buried myself in school and parties,” she told him. It wasn’t exactly a lie; just leaving out three months of the timeline. But Steve didn’t need to know that.

Keeping herself occupied with all her homework, afterschool clubs, drug-fueled parties, and many interests kept her mind off of her parents. There were times when she managed to convince herself her parents weren’t even a part of her life. Of course, she knew that they were still there, but their presence and roles to Maeven were tuned out. She didn’t recognize the people they had become and had to learn to somehow live without seeing them together anymore.

It was a change that she never prepared for, and still found it hard to grasp at times.

“I gotta say, you are. . .totally not what I expected you to be,” Steve realized.

“Really? What were you expecting?” Maeven asked him.

“Most of the smart kids or honor students here are pretty loud and proud. You’re just. . .” he droned, struggling to find the right word.

“Humble?” she suggested.

“Yeah, sure. I was gonna say ‘shy,’ but that works, too,” he clarified. “And now I find out you like parties, and my whole vision of you has changed again.”

Steve wasn’t as noticeably perceptive as Nancy was, that was for sure. But he seemed to make up for it in natural charisma. He also appeared more emotionally intelligent than his girlfriend, even if it seemed like he was still adjusting to his new learning curve.

“You ever heard that you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, Steven?” she joked with him.

“I have, indeed,” he playfully answered.

“To tell you the truth, I didn’t really understand it until about a year ago,” he confessed, internally cringing at his behavior last year. He still couldn’t believe it had been that long already.

“That’s surprising,” Maeven told him.

“What is?”

“Not to be a hypocrite, but I didn’t peg you as a mean guy,” she added, much to Steve’s relief. He often found himself worrying he was still the same ‘douche-bag,’ as Mike had once called him, that he was a not-too-long ago. Steve didn’t like the person he became when he was around Tommy and Carol.

“Well, that’s good to hear,” he admitted. 

“Yeah, you don’t have the whole. . .asshole jock energy the same way Billy does. Sounds like you used to, though?”

Was this girl psychic? It was really starting to freak him out, But he kept talking, anyway.

“Not exactly proud of it, but yeah.”

“I think you should be. . .about changing for the better, that is,” Maeven explained. Steve had never thought about it that way, before. He ended up more engaged in this conversation with the new girl than he thought he would be.

“What classes do you have, by the way?” It just dawned on him, and it triggered Mae to move quickly when taking off her backpack as if she was in a hurry.

“Let me check, hold on,” she said, swiftly dropping to crouch on the ground and dig around inside for the schedule the lady at the front office handed to her.

“Where did that sudden burst of energy come from?” Steve thought to himself. He considered asking why she carried so much stuff in her bag but decided against it.

“Uhmm. . .History and Literature 4 for First period. Then Biology 4, Art, Health. After lunch, it’s Algebra 4, Gym, and then Study Hall. But, I guess that last one is what everyone has,” she read aloud, leaning over to Steve’s side so he could have a look at the paper, too.

“Oh, good, we have Lit and gym together,” he pointed out. “And I think you have Health and Math with Nancy.”

“Nice to know I won't be totally flying blind,” she sighed with relief.

“You’re taking a lot of advanced classes. Higgins wasn’t kidding when he said you were smart,” he complimented. Maeven was about to thank him, but the voice in her head stopped her, ruining it like he hadn’t said anything nice about her at all.“Don’t tell him you should be a senior. Don’t tell him you had to repeat a year. Don’t be stupid, Maeven.”

. . .

A/N: Thanks so much for tuning in and all the love I've gotten back on this! It may not be a lot in terms of other fanfics, but I'm happy even if just one person enjoys my writing. This took longer to write than I thought, as I had to split up what I had originally planned for this one and put it into the next one. As always, I love hearing what you guys think about this and maybe what you might want to see or think will happen.

The Spitfire Curse Taglist:

@yaidothat

Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist!

[nessa-mayfield]

MAIN BIO — THE WALKING DEAD;

❝ 𝑰 𝒘𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒚 𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅 ❞

𝗡𝗮𝗺𝗲; Vanessa Elizabeth Mayfield

𝗡𝗶𝗰𝗸𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗲; Nessa, Ness, Nessie, Lochness, Nes, Monkey (from Daryl)

➥ born in California

➥ 4 years older than Max

⤷ 𝘜𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘱𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘉𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘺

➥ When she’s 10, the whole family move from California to this town in Indiana called Hawkins.

➥ Their mom, Susan fell in love with a guy named Neil when she’s 8 and get married soon after, and that’s when they’re introduced to their new stepfamily

➥ Max was 6 when they move

➥ Only reason they moved from San Diego California was because William — Billy, their new stepbrother started causing trouble, enough so that they want to move for a “fresh start”

➥ She, like her sister miss their dad in California

⤷ 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘕𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘢𝘥

➥ They stay in Hawkins Indiana for 4 years

➥ Long enough that both girls hope they won’t move again, long enough that they do make long lasting friends

➥ Vanessa even finds out one of her newfound friends is a dealer, and they live nearby, so she’s got a pretty decent supply of weed to help with anxiety

➥ But then again, nothing lasts forever, and despite their protests, they move to this little trailer park on the edge of kings county, in Atlanta Georgia. When she’s 14, and max is 10

⤷ 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺'𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘣𝘺 𝘢 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵

➥ Both Neil and Billy are abusive

➥ She takes the brunt of it willingly if it means it’s keeping her sister safe, and thankfully it seems to work.

➥ Not that long after moving, she decides to go exploring the forest near their new home

➥In doing so, she almost gets shot by this wiry looking guy, crossbow aimed at her as she emerges from the trees into a little clearing with an old picnic table

➥She’s immediately raising her hands with a “don’t shoot!”

➥ Soon she learns this kid’s named Daryl, and he’s got an asshole of a dad too

⤷ 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳

➥ And they eventually become close friends, and that picnic table in the clearing becomes “𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘵”

➥ Since she’s working like a billion jobs to help out her mom, she saves up enough money, wanting to buy daryl a phone for his 18th birthday so they can keep in contact if anything happens

➥But it’s after one day when he doesn’t come to their spot that she starts to worry

➥The next day he shows up looking seriously beat up and right then and there she decides that it can’t wait until his birthday (which she’s sad about)

➥So next time they meet, she’s got a little wrapped box, telling him to open it and “it’s a surprise 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 early birthday gift. I was gonna wait till you’re 18th, but you definitely need one cause…y’know… and my number’s already in it.”

➥They also develop a code word if they need to meet up urgently, or for anything urgent really.

⤷ 𝘐𝘵'𝘴 𝘊𝘩𝘶𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘢𝘣𝘳𝘢

➥ Often they’ll sneak into each other’s rooms, having mastered it by now

➥ She also took the liberty of having a first aid kit underneath the table for if either of them need it

➥ Or if she needs to help him or vice versa since the woods is what separates them, him living up in the mountains, and her in the trailer park at the edge of kings county

➥Throughout the years as they grew up, she lets him drag her along anywhere (𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘢 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘩 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘮)

➥ So most of the shit he gets up to with Merle, she’s there too, keeping an eye out for Daryl's safety

➥ And you know how it is when you’ve got your first serious crush when you’re young, you’ll gladly do anything to stay near them

➥ But also because she cares about him and wants to make sure he’s safe, that someone’s actually looking out for him, and so Merle doesn’t drag him down

➥ He gets along with max too, both of them exchanging cds and ganging up on her to decide that teaching Nessa how to skateboard is a lost cause.

➥ Has anxiety

➥ Definitely overprotective

➥Even living in a trailer park on the edge of kings county, she 𝗱𝗲𝗳𝗶𝗻𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗹𝘆 has come across Shane & Rick before

➥Probably bailing out Merle on occasion, they don’t necessarily get along, men like him remind her too much of her stepdad and brother, and it’s Merle, so he’s…Merle.

⤷ 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘋𝘢𝘳𝘺𝘭, 𝘴𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘮

➥ She also takes him to his first fair when there’s one in town

➥ Once the apocalypse starts, they’re separated, and it’s only her and max, surviving in this new world

➥Until she’s accidentally shot with… you guessed it, a crossbow bolt, right as they’re coming out of the trees

⤷ 𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘱

⤷ 𝘚𝘰 𝘪𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘋𝘢𝘳𝘺𝘭'𝘴 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘦𝘥𝘨𝘦

➥ Soon as she sees him, she’s grinning

➥ “We gotta stop meeting like this”

➥ And then she's passing out, knowing that Max will be safe with Daryl there

➥ She makes friends with the kids easily, specifically Sophia

➥ She remembers being that age, being terrified of her stepdad, of her stepbrother, trying to shield max

➥ While bonding with the rest of the group, neither Max or her put up with any of Shane's bullshit

➥ They’re both there when the herd hits after the CDC

➥ Max runs after Sophia and someone (Glenn? Shane?) has to hold her back from physically running after her, putting a hand over her mouth to stop her from screaming her sisters name

➥ At the farm it’s not 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 Sophia they’re looking for, it’s also Max.

➥ She’s out there just as much as Daryl looking for her sister

➥ She does bond with Andrea when she learns that she also had a sister named Amy who died in the attack

➥ But then she goes and accidentally has to shoot Daryl, and I’m not saying Nessa is overprotective at times, but…

➥ Yes it’s possible the blonde is sporting a black eye or busted lip not long after Daryl’s brought up

➥ And no, she will not be apologizing anytime soon

➥ And at the barn she sees how much the Greenes don't want them to do this, and even if she doesn't want to, Shane already opened this can of worms so it's not like she can do anything to stop it

➥ So when he hands her a gun, asking if she can do this, she nods, taking it, avoiding looking anywhere but at the barn, bracing herself.

➥ Then those doors open

⤷ 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘴𝘦

➥ Taking a breath, she starts to shoot as soon as the walkers start pouring out

➥ When they seem to stop, she lowers her gun, breathing out trying to steady her racing heart

➥ Something tells her this isn't done yet...and sure enough...

➥ A few seconds later, there's the tell tale signs of another walker - actually walkers, slowly making their way out

➥ Like they were waiting to make their entrance

➥ She raises her gun again

➥ Braces herself

⤷ 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴… 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴… 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯… 𝘕𝘰…!

➥ She's vaguely aware that Carol screamed, that someone, Daryl maybe, is holding her back

➥ And a second later, her gun slips from her hands, her knees buckle and she's falling, not even realizing she'd screamed out the last part herself

➥ Because it wasn't just Sophia that came out

➥ Shuffling along right beside her was Max

⤷ 𝘔𝘢𝘹… 𝘎𝘰𝘥… 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘔𝘢𝘹… 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘔𝘢𝘹𝘪𝘦…

➥ Tears blur her vision, and someone's holding her back now

➥ Dale.

➥ He's whispering comforting words

➥ His Grip tightening as someone — 𝘙𝘪𝘤𝘬 — steps forward, and does what no one else seems capable of doing

➥Two gunshots ring in the air

➥ And then silence.

➥ She's not sure how long she sat there crying

➥ But it's Andreas hand on her shoulder that brings her back to reality

⤷ 𝘈 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘔𝘢𝘹

➥ As her brain so readily provides

➥ She shrugs off the hand on her shoulder, standing, taking a step towards her sister's body, before changing course and going back to her tent

➥ Because Max was mauled, she never gets a proper close look (𝘋𝘢𝘳𝘺𝘭 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳. 𝘐𝘵'𝘴 𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘦'𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦, 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳'𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺)

➥ Quick to zip it up behind her, not in the mood to deal with the outside world.

➥ she also smokes a lot, it helps her anxiety

⤷ 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦

➥ She's devastated when Beth dies, having thought of her as a sister figure, reminding her of Max

➥ It’s also around then that she and Maggie really bond, knowing what it’s like to lose your sister, and your only family really

➥ Sees rick as a father figure

➥ And she absolutely adores Carol

➥ if she was able to find any notebooks on a run, she grabs it as well as any writing utensil handy and keeps up her tradition of writing

➥ 5”7

➥ still an anxious nerd

➥ In the aftermath of the prison falling, she escapes with Beth & Daryl

𝙁𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙤𝙢; 𝙏𝙒𝘿 & 𝘾𝙧𝙤𝙨𝙨𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙛𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙡𝙮

𝙁𝙖𝙘𝙚𝙘𝙡𝙖𝙞𝙢; 𝘼𝙗𝙞𝙜𝙖𝙞𝙡 𝘾𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙣

⤷ 𝗢𝗣𝗘𝗡 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗡𝗘𝗖𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡𝗦 & 𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗣𝗣𝗜𝗡𝗚

⤷ 𝘚𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱

[coastdesignbuild]

Eco-Friendly Kitchen Remodeling: Sustainable Choices for a Greener Home

Nowadays, where natural mindfulness is getting a move on, contract holders are dynamically searching for approaches to making their living spaces more sensible. One locale that presents a tremendous opportunity for eco-obliging choices is kitchen upgrading and bathroom remodeling in San Diego. By embracing prudent practices and materials, you can make a magnificent, helpful, and earth-conscious kitchen that works on your home's assessment and adds to a greener planet.

Prioritizing Energy Efficiency While undertaking kitchen remodeling in San Diego, zeroing in on energy efficiency should be at the front. Consider overriding out-of-date machine-confirmed models, which consume less energy and reduction of your carbon impression. Driven lighting is another incredible choice, as it is significantly viable and reliable, diminishing the necessity for progressive bulb replacements. Selecting Sustainable Materials The materials you choose for your kitchen rebuilding in San Diego can generally influence the environment. Select secretly gotten or reused materials at whatever point what is going on permits, as they have a lower carbon impression and support possible practices. Bamboo and recuperated wood are extraordinary decisions for cabinetry and edges, offering both greatness and durability.

Water Conservation Matters Water preservation is a significant part of eco-accommodating kitchen remodeling in San Diego. Consider introducing low-stream fixtures and showerheads in your washroom renovation project, as they can essentially lessen water utilization without compromising usefulness. Moreover, investigate the chance of integrating greywater frameworks that reuse water from sinks and showers for non-consumable purposes, for example, water systems or latrine flushing.

Viable waste administration is indispensable to a supportable kitchen redesign. Put resources into reusing containers, treating the soil frameworks, and garbage removal units to limit landfill squandering and advance reusing and fertilizing the soil rehearses. By isolating and appropriately discarding waste materials, you can decrease your natural impression and add to a more roundabout economy. Integrating economic waste administration arrangements into your kitchen rebuild shows your obligation to natural stewardship.

Embracing Renewable Energy Boosting regular lighting and ventilation can upgrade the maintainability of your kitchen redesign. During the planning stage, focus on enormous windows, lookout windows, and decisively positioned openings to acquire adequate normal light and natural air. This decreases the requirement for counterfeit lighting and mechanical ventilation, bringing down energy utilization and advancing indoor air quality. By saddling the force of nature, you can make a brilliant, vaporous kitchen space that feels welcoming and eco-accommodating.

On the off chance that your spending plan permits, investigate the joining of sustainable power sources like sunlight-based chargers or wind turbines into your kitchen renovation project. These maintainable energy arrangements not only decrease your dependence on non-inexhaustible assets but also bring down your drawn-out energy costs.

Eco-accommodating kitchen remodeling in San Diego is a shrewd speculation that benefits both your home and the climate. By settling on practical decisions during your washroom renovation San Diego project, you can make a wonderful, practical, and earth-dependable space that lines up with your qualities and adds to a greener future. Keep in mind each little step towards supportability counts, and by consolidating eco-accommodating practices into your home remodels, you are assuming a fundamental part in safeguarding our planet for a long time into the future.

[sandiegoca-near]

Recreational Activities in San Diego, CA

Whether you love nature, sports, or culture, this lively city of San Diego, CA, has something to offer everyone. San Diego boasts an impressive collection of parks that provide various recreational activities that cater to our interests. You can indulge in delightful picnics, embark on thrilling bike rides, or engage in spirited sports competitions while immersing yourself in the serene ambiance of nature. San Diego offers an extensive array of dining choices, including renowned restaurants, delightful cafes, popular breweries, and exceptional wineries that cater to your tastes. Whether you're a local or a visitor, you'll be delighted to. Then, whether you're in the mood for a trendy gastropub or a charming, cozy restaurant, this vibrant city has it all. It's no surprise that countless individuals are drawn to San Diego as their ultimate place of residence.

Apartments in Mission Valley

If you're looking for a place to call home in San Diego, you'll be thrilled that some beautiful apartments in Mission Valley offer a comfortable lifestyle with modern amenities. These apartments feature versatile studio, one-bedroom, and two-bedroom apartment layouts, and they come equipped with top-of-the-line facilities that will impress you. You'll find GE stainless-steel appliances, quartz countertops, gas ranges, oversized garden-style tubs, and vinyl wood-style floors. Some homes even offer electronic entry locks, central air conditioning, upgraded lighting fixtures, and open-plan kitchens with stylish islands. You can enjoy shopping at Fashion Valley or relaxing along the San Diego River. To learn more about these fantastic apartments, please call (855) 590-0263.

San Diego Air & Space Museum

The San Diego Air & Space Museum is such a must-visit location for aviation enthusiasts and history buffs. Its vast collection of the aircraft and artifacts provides a super fascinating journey through the evolution of flight. From the early days of aviation to the latest cutting-edge technology, this museum showcases the beacon of excellence in aviation and space exploration. It boasts an extensive collection of aircraft, spacecraft, and valuable artifacts, complemented by engaging interactive exhibits and enriching educational programs. These provide a unique opportunity to learn and be inspired by the incredible achievements of these pioneers. People of from various generations can enjoy and learn from this museum's educational opportunities, which delve into the fascinating realms of aviation and space exploration.

Former LAPD Lieutenant apprehended by San Diego Border Patrol

A former LAPD lieutenant was apprehended by San Diego Sector Border Patrol agents on suspicion of being involved in human smuggling while carrying a weapon. The former officer confidently presented a badge to the agents, clearly identifying himself as a lieutenant. It was surprising to learn that he had left the LAPD, but it was evident that he had undergone personal growth and transformation during his time away, as he had served a sentence for a regrettable incident. The agent discovered a suspicious SUV near the border, and to their surprise, the driver promptly displayed a badge, confidently identifying himself as a lieutenant. The man had not been a police officer since 1993 when he was found guilty of a severe offense and subsequently served a three-year prison sentence. 

Link to maps

San Diego Air & Space Museum 2001 Pan American Plaza, San Diego, CA 92101, United States Get on CA-163 N from Presidents Way 3 min (0.9 mi) Continue on CA-163 N to Auto Cir/Mission Center Rd. Take exit 3A from CA-163 N 4 min (3.0 mi) Take Camino Del Rio N to Camino Del Arroyo 3 min (0.5 mi) Metro Mission Valley 5080 Camino Del Arroyo, San Diego, CA 92108, United States

[memes-saved-me]

Billy never liked himself, who he was or the way he reacted to certain situations. He liked the way he looked and the way people looked at him, but deep down it was just a shell. Something to help hide who he really was. A scared kid who wanted out.

That was why he couldn't understand why Steve was with him. Why he patched him up every time he turned up covered in his own blood, fresh bruises and a few times, a broken rib. The way he sat him down on the counter in his bathroom and cleaned off the crusted blood, wrapped him in a blanket and kissed his temple like he cared. Cared about Billy more than he cared about himself. The way he didn't ask or comment, he just helped and that was what Billy needed. Help.

Steve loved Billy more than he could even understand, more than he had ever loved someone and at times it scared him. Times such as the late night phonecalls from Billy asking if he could come over because he needed help, needed patched up. Or the late night talks about where the bruises came from. The nights that Steve sat awake, knowing he couldn't take him away from that, not yet.

It took a lot longer for Billy to realise he loved Steve, loved him more than life itself. Took him even longer for him to admit it, because admitting it made it real and that was terrifying to Billy. Terrifying because he had someone else to worry about, someone he worried about a hell of a lot more than himself.

It terrified him when he found Steve at the edge of the woods with his stupid bat, waiting for something to come at him. Terrified him when he saw the hurt in his eyes everytime he cleaned him up, or when he would bolt awake trying to fight something that wasn't there. But the worst was when he lay there in the early morning, knowing that he would take on the world to keep this snoring, drooling idiot safe.

Except, when Billy sat at their table drinking the coffee they made from their machine in their kitchen all of that felt like a distant memory. The nights of worry and pain long gone, the nightmares never left but they stayed that. Just nightmares, fears of long ago monsters that were no longer around to cause harm.

Steve no longer worried about late night calls or broken ribs, he worried about bills and if the dog had been walked that day. He didn't need to clean Billy up anymore or think of ways to get him out because he already had.

They had already packed up and left, moved to some barely standing apartment building in San Diego. Leaks, broken furniture and getting time off for the holidays were what filled their lives now. No more being scared or worried because all of that was gone.

Billy still didn't like himself at times, didn't like the way he would flinch if Steve accidentally dropped something or a door slammed. But now he knew that it wasn't his fault and he knew how much be meant to people, knew he was worth caring about. Knew he loved Steve and Steve loved him, that was all he needed. All he wanted and he had it.

They had eachother and always would.

[kristopherkirkpatrick]

Choose a rare wood slab for a custom slab table from our huge selection. Select the size, finish & legs for a custom table or live edge coffee table. Visit : https://www.kristopherkirkpatrick.com/

[integrationslady]

Lifelong Besties Part 2

I can’t believe I got so busy over the last few weeks that I 100% forgot I’d started a series... I’m sure all five people who actually pay attention to my posts have been on the edges of their seats waiting for more. So, we left off at the end of sixth grade. My best friend of six years and our other two best friends who’d just shown up that year had just decided I wasn’t cool enough for them anymore. The rest of that school year was pretty darn lonely, but luckily that did go down about two weeks before summer vacation. 

At the beginning of sixth grade my family had moved across our pretty small town, but I hadn’t met or even really seen any kids in our new neighborhood. Since I was basically friendless at the beginning of the summer, I made an effort to find kids my age nearby and found that a block away lived three kids. The oldest was a girl a year older than me named Marita (that’s her on the right, me on the left).

There are a lot of things that kept me and Marita from ever being quite BEST friends, but we were pretty close through middle and high school and are still friends today. She lives in the mid-west now, but her mom and step-dad still live a block from my parents and she usually brings her kids over for spring break. We don’t always have time to get together, but we do usually try. 

When middle school started in the fall, I ended up hanging out quite a bit with some girls I’d known for a while but never spent a lot of time with, and Marita came along with me. We formed a pretty nice little group, and looking back I think it was a group of people who felt like they didn’t have another group to be part of, maybe? But I mean, isn’t that how lots of friend groups start?

This picture was taken over Christmas break my first or second year of college (I’m not sure why Marita wasn’t there that night but we’ve already talked about her anyway) and I’ve heard a few of us still have it framed in their houses somewhere.

#1 is me. #2 is Laurel. Laurel was my absolute best friend through middle and high school. We did everything together, got mistaken for each other all the time, told each other literally everything, etc. etc.. We went to  band camp together with #3 above

And honestly we are still really, really good friends. She lives in Seattle and I do try to get together with her any time I go over there. 

(Yes, those are very small beers... it was a tasting... we’re classy AF)

And we’ve done some trips together as adults including Hollywood with #5 a few years ago (we’re planning a repeat of this one, or San Diego, later this year maybe)

But Laurel went to college in Tacoma and I went to the mid-west so we haven’t had a lot of chances to spend time together in the last 20 years. She also joined a sorority in college which allowed her to find a bunch of really close friends who you know, aren’t me and don’t know me and don’t really have much in common with me. We’re still close, we’re just not like CLOSE close.

#3 is Gretchen. She’s the one I mentioned in part 1.5 where we’d gone to see Jurassic Park in the theater for her birthday when it came out and then I randomly watched it on TV this year on her birthday. Gretchen grew up about a block away from me (before we moved across town) so I’d known her for most of my life, but we didn’t start hanging out until high school. 

I don’t remember the last time I talked to Gretchen. I don’t know where she lives now or how many kids she has or what she’s doing with her life. This isn’t a me thing, like we never had a falling out or anything. Most of the people in these pictures are in the same boat. See Gretchen didn’t date at all until college, and basically the moment she met her first boyfriend, who’s now her husband (at least, the last I heard...) she basically said goodbye to everyone else in her life except her family. You’re probably seeing some red flags here, but I don’t think they’re warranted? I haven’t met him myself, but Laurel and Annie (#5) have and they say he seems great. It’s just that they’re both very, very introverted and prefer to use their energy on each other and their kids and family more than others. And they don’t use social media. From what I hear, if they had their way (and who knows, maybe they do) they’d live in the woods off the grid and basically see other people once a month at the grocery store. It hurt a little bit when she stopped making herself available to hang out with us, but idk I kinda get it now. When you find the person/people that don’t suck up your energy, you wanna put that energy there.

#4 is Jenessa, and I’m just gonna be frank and short here. Jenessa became very self absorbed in college and has lost a lot of friends as a result. She was a great friend when we were younger, I’ll always be grateful she was in my life and there are definitely times when things remind me of her and I think about trying to reconnect, but man talk about sucking up energy... I just can’t do it.

#5 is Annie. Annie is gonna get her own whole post and I don’t have time to write that now. But for now just know that we’re definitely still good friends.

For now I’ll leave you with some pictures; 

A group of us who went to prom together

Me, Annie, and Marita (with an appearance by Annie’s dad) riding on Annie’s family’s tractor

And me, Annie, and Marita a few years ago when they were both in town at the same time

[takethehighwaytoheaven]

The crysanthemums by John Steinbeck

Warning: This story is NOT mine(No hell) Hope you like it

The high grey-flannel fog of winter closed off the Salinas Valley from the sky and from all the rest of the world. On every side it sat like a lid on the mountains and made of the great valley a closed pot. On the broad, level land floor the gang plows bit deep and left the black earth shining like metal where the shares had cut. On the foothill ranches across the Salinas River, the yellow stubble fields seemed to be bathed in pale cold sunshine, but there was no sunshine in the valley now in December. The thick willow scrub along the river flamed with sharp and positive yellow leaves. It was a time of quiet and of waiting. The air was cold and tender. A light wind blew up from the southwest so that the farmers were mildly hopeful of a good rain before long; but fog and rain did not go together. Across the river, on Henry Allen's foothill ranch there was little work to be done, for the hay was cut and stored and the orchards were plowed up to receive the rain deeply when it should come. The cattle on the higher slopes were becoming shaggy and rough-coated. Elisa Allen, working in her flower garden, looked down across the yard and saw Henry, her husband, talking to two men in business suits. The three of them stood by the tractor shed, each man with one foot on the side of the little Fordson. They smoked cigarettes and studied the machine as they talked. Elisa watched them for a moment and then went back to her work. She was thirtyfive. Her face was lean and strong and her eyes were as clear as water. Her figure looked blocked and heavy in her gardening costume, a man's black hat pulled low down over her eyes, clod-hopper shoes, a figured print dress almost completely covered by a big corduroy apron with four big pockets to hold the snips, the trowel and scratcher, the seeds and the knife she worked with. She wore heavy leather gloves to protect her hands while she worked. She was cutting down the old year's chrysanthemum stalks with a pair of short and powerful scissors. She looked down toward the men by the tractor shed now and then. Her face was eager and mature and handsome; even her work with the scissors was over-eager, over-powerful. The chrysanthemum stems seemed too small and easy for her energy. She brushed a cloud of hair out of her eyes with the back of her glove, and left a smudge of earth on her cheek in doing it. Behind her stood the neat white farm house with red geraniums close-banked around it as high as the windows. It was a hard-swept looking little house, with hard-polished windows, and a clean mud-mat on the front steps. Elisa cast another glance toward the tractor shed. The strangers were getting into their Ford coupe. She took off a glove and put her strong fingers down into the forest of new green chrysanthemum sprouts that were growing around the old roots. She spread the leaves and looked down among the close-growing stems. No aphids were there, no sowbugs or snails or cutworms. Her terrier fingers destroyed such pests before they could get started. Elisa started at the sound of her husband's voice. He had come near quietly, and he leaned over the wire fence that protected her flower garden from cattle and dogs and chickens. "At it again," he said. "You've got a strong new crop coming." Elisa straightened her back and pulled on the gardening glove again. "Yes. They'll be strong this coming year." In her tone and on her face there was a little smugness. You've got a gift with things," Henry observed. "Some of those yellow chrysanthemums you had this year were ten inches across. I wish you'd work out in the orchard and raise some apples that big." Her eyes sharpened. "Maybe I could do it, too. I've a gift with things, all right. My mother had it. She could stick anything in the ground and make it grow. She said it was having planters' hands that knew how to do it." "Well, it sure works with flowers," he said. "Henry, who were those men you were talking to?" "Why, sure, that's what I came to tell you. They were from the Western Meat Company. I sold those thirty head of three-year-old steers. Got nearly my own price, too." "Good," she said. "Good for you. "And I thought," he continued, "I thought how it's Saturday afternoon, and we might go into Salinas for dinner at a restaurant, and then to a picture show—to celebrate, you see." "Good," she repeated. "Oh, yes. That will be good." Henry put on his joking tone. "There's fights tonight. How'd you like to go to the fights?" "Oh, no," she said breathlessly. "No, I wouldn't like fights." "Just fooling, Elisa. We'll go to a movie. Let's see. It's two now. I'm going to take Scotty and bring down those steers from the hill. It'll take us maybe two hours. We'll go in town about five and have dinner at the Cominos Hotel. Like that?" "Of course I'll like it. It's good to eat away from home." "All right, then. I'll go get up a couple of horses." She said, "I'll have plenty of time to transplant some of these sets, I guess." She heard her husband calling Scotty down by the barn. And a little later she saw the two men ride up the pale yellow hillside in search of the steers. There was a little square sandy bed kept for rooting the chrysanthemums. With her trowel she turned the soil over and over, and smoothed it and patted it firm. Then she dug ten parallel trenches to receive the sets. Back at the chrysanthemum bed she pulled out the little crisp shoots, trimmed off the leaves of each one with her scissors and laid it on a small orderly pile. A squeak of wheels and plod of hoofs came from the road. Elisa looked up. The country road ran along the dense bank of willows and cotton-woods that bordered the river, and up this road came a curious vehicle, curiously drawn. It was an old spring-wagon, with a round canvas top on it like the cover of a prairie schooner. It was drawn by an old bay horse and a little grey-and-white burro. A big stubblebearded man sat between the cover flaps and drove the crawling team. Underneath the wagon, between the hind wheels, a lean and rangy mongrel dog walked sedately. Words were painted on the canvas in clumsy, crooked letters. "Pots, pans, knives, sisors, lawn mores, Fixed." Two rows of articles, and the triumphantly definitive "Fixed" below. The black paint had run down in little sharp points beneath each letter. Elisa, squatting on the ground, watched to see the crazy, loose-jointed wagon pass by. But it didn't pass. It turned into the farm road in front of her house, crooked old wheels skirling and squeaking. The rangy dog darted from between the wheels and ran ahead. Instantly the two ranch shepherds flew out at him. Then all three stopped, and with stiff and quivering tails, with taut straight legs, with ambassadorial dignity, they slowly circled, sniffing daintily. The caravan pulled up to Elisa's wire fence and stopped. Now the newcomer dog, feeling outnumbered, lowered his tail and retired under the wagon with raised hackles and bared teeth. The man on the wagon seat called out, "That's a bad dog in a fight when he gets started." Elisa laughed. "I see he is. How soon does he generally get started?" The man caught up her laughter and echoed it heartily. "Sometimes not for weeks and weeks," he said. He climbed stiffly down, over the wheel. The horse and the donkey drooped like unwatered flowers. Elisa saw that he was a very big man. Although his hair and beard were graying, he did not look old. His worn black suit was wrinkled and spotted with grease. The laughter had disappeared from his face and eyes the moment his laughing voice ceased. His eyes were dark, and they were full of the brooding that gets in the eyes of teamsters and of sailors. The calloused hands he rested on the wire fence were cracked, and every crack was a black line. He took off his battered hat. "I'm off my general road, ma'am," he said. "Does this dirt road cut over across the river to the Los Angeles highway?" Elisa stood up and shoved the thick scissors in her apron pocket. "Well, yes, it does, but it winds around and then fords the river. I don't think your team could pull through the sand." He replied with some asperity, "It might surprise you what them beasts can pull through." "When they get started?" she asked. He smiled for a second. "Yes. When they get started." "Well," said Elisa, "I think you'll save time if you go back to the Salinas road and pick up the highway there." He drew a big finger down the chicken wire and made it sing. "I ain't in any hurry, ma am. I go from Seattle to San Diego and back every year. Takes all my time. About six months each way. I aim to follow nice weather." Elisa took off her gloves and stuffed them in the apron pocket with the scissors. She touched the under edge of her man's hat, searching for fugitive hairs. "That sounds like a nice kind of a way to live," she said. He leaned confidentially over the fence. "Maybe you noticed the writing on my wagon. I mend pots and sharpen knives and scissors. You got any of them things to do?" "Oh, no," she said quickly. "Nothing like that." Her eyes hardened with resistance. "Scissors is the worst thing," he explained. "Most people just ruin scissors trying to sharpen 'em, but I know how. I got a special tool. It's a little bobbit kind of thing, and patented. But it sure does the trick." "No. My scissors are all sharp." "All right, then. Take a pot," he continued earnestly, "a bent pot, or a pot with a hole. I can make it like new so you don't have to buy no new ones. That's a saving for you. "No," she said shortly. "I tell you I have nothing like that for you to do." His face fell to an exaggerated sadness. His voice took on a whining undertone. "I ain't had a thing to do today. Maybe I won't have no supper tonight. You see I'm off my regular road. I know folks on the highway clear from Seattle to San Diego. They save their things for me to sharpen up because they know I do it so good and save them money. "I'm sorry," Elisa said irritably. "I haven't anything for you to do." His eyes left her face and fell to searching the ground. They roamed about until they came to the chrysanthemum bed where she had been working. "What's them plants, ma'am?" The irritation and resistance melted from Elisa's face. "Oh, those are chrysanthemums, giant whites and yellows. I raise them every year, bigger than anybody around here." "Kind of a long-stemmed flower? Looks like a quick puff of colored smoke?" he asked. "That's it. What a nice way to describe them." "They smell kind of nasty till you get used to them," he said. "It's a good bitter smell," she retorted, "not nasty at all." He changed his tone quickly. "I like the smell myself." "I had ten-inch blooms this year," she said. The man leaned farther over the fence. "Look. I know a lady down the road a piece, has got the nicest garden you ever seen. Got nearly every kind of flower but no chrysanthemums. Last time I was mending a copper-bottom washtub for her (that's a hard job but I do it good), she said to me, 'If you ever run acrost some nice chrysanthemums I wish you'd try to get me a few seeds.' That's what she told me." Elisa's eyes grew alert and eager. "She couldn't have known much about chrysanthemums. You can raise them from seed, but it's much easier to root the little sprouts you see there." "Oh," he said. "I s'pose I can't take none to her, then." "Why yes you can," Elisa cried. "I can put some in damp sand, and you can carry them right along with you. They'll take root in the pot if you keep them damp. And then she can transplant them." "She'd sure like to have some, ma'am. You say they're nice ones?" "Beautiful," she said. "Oh, beautiful." Her eyes shone. She tore off the battered hat and shook out her dark pretty hair. "I'll put them in a flower pot, and you can take them right with you. Come into the yard." While the man came through the picket fence Elisa ran excitedly along the geranium-bordered path to the back of the house. And she returned carrying a big red flower pot. The gloves were forgotten now. She kneeled on the ground by the starting bed and dug up the sandy soil with her fingers and scooped it into the bright new flower pot. Then she picked up the little pile of shoots she had prepared. With her strong fingers she pressed them into the sand and tamped around them with her knuckles. The man stood over her. "I'll tell you what to do," she said. "You remember so you can tell the lady." "Yes, I'll try to remember." "Well, look. These will take root in about a month. Then she must set them out, about a foot apart in good rich earth like this, see?" She lifted a handful of dark soil for him to look at. "They'll grow fast and tall. Now remember this. In July tell her to cut them down, about eight inches from the ground." "Before they bloom?" he asked. "Yes, before they bloom." Her face was tight with eagerness. "They'll grow right up again. About the last of September the buds will start." She stopped and seemed perplexed. "It's the budding that takes the most care," she said hesitantlv. "I don't know how to tell you." She looked deep into his eyes, searchingly. Her mouth opened a little, and she seemed to be listening. "I'll try to tell you," she said. "Did you ever hear of planting hands?" "Can't say I have, ma'am." "Well, I can only tell you what it feels like. It's when you're picking off the buds you don't want. Everything goes right down into your fingertips. You watch your fingers work. They do it themselves. You can feel how it is. They pick and pick the buds. They never make a mistake. They're with the plant. Do you see? Your fingers and the plant. You can feel that, right up your arm. They know. They never make a mistake. You can feel it. When you're like that you can't do anything wrong. Do you see that? Can you understand that?" She was kneeling on the ground looking up at him. Her breast swelled passionately. The man's eyes narrowed. He looked away self-consciously. "Maybe I know," he said. "Sometimes in the night in the wagon there—" Elisa's voice grew husky. She broke in on him. "I've never lived as you do, but I know what you mean. When the night is dark—why, the stars are sharp-pointed, and there's quiet. Why, you rise up and up! Every pointed star gets driven into your body. It's like that. Hot and sharp and—lovely." Kneeling there, her hand went out toward his legs in the greasy black trousers. Her hesitant fingers almost touched the cloth. Then her hand dropped to the ground. She crouched low like a fawning dog. He said, "It's nice, just like you say. Only when you don't have no dinner, it ain't." She stood up then, very straight, and her face was ashamed. She held the flower pot out to him and placed it gently in his arms. "Here. Put it in your wagon, on the seat, where you can watch it. Maybe I can find something for you to do." At the back of the house she dug in the can pile and found two old and battered aluminum saucepans. She carried them back and gave them to him. "Here, maybe you can fix these." His manner changed. He became professional. "Good as new I can fix them." At the back of his wagon he set a little anvil, and out of an oily tool box dug a small machine hammer. Elisa came through the gate to watch him while he pounded out the dents in the kettles. His mouth grew sure and knowing. At a difficult part of the work he sucked his under-lip. "You sleep right in the wagon?" Elisa asked. "Right in the wagon, ma'am. Rain or shine I'm dry as a cow in there." It must be nice," she said. "It must be very nice. I wish women could do such things." "It ain't the right kind of a life for a woman. Her upper lip raised a little, showing her teeth. "How do you know? How can you tell?" she said. "I don't know, ma'am," he protested. "Of course I don't know. Now here's your kettles, done. You don't have to buy no new ones." "How much?" "Oh, fifty cents'll do. I keep my prices down and my work good. That's why I have all them satisfied customers up and down the highway." Elisa brought him a fifty-cent piece from the house and dropped it in his hand. "You might be surprised to have a rival some time. I can sharpen scissors, too. And I can beat the dents out of little pots. I could show you what a woman might do." He put his hammer back in the oily box and shoved the little anvil out of sight. "It would be a lonely life for a woman, ma'am, and a scarey life, too, with animals creeping under the wagon all night." He climbed over the singletree, steadying himself with a hand on the burro's white rump. He settled himself in the seat, picked up the lines. "Thank you kindly, ma'am," he said. "I'll do like you told me; I'll go back and catch the Salinas road." "Mind," she called, "if you're long in getting there, keep the sand damp." "Sand, ma'am?. .. Sand? Oh, sure. You mean around the chrysanthemums. Sure I will." He clucked his tongue. The beasts leaned luxuriously into their collars. The mongrel dog took his place between the back wheels. The wagon turned and crawled out the entrance road and back the way it had come, along the river. Elisa stood in front of her wire fence watching the slow progress of the caravan. Her shoulders were straight, her head thrown back, her eyes half-closed, so that the scene came vaguely into them. Her lips moved silently, forming the words "Goodbye—good-bye." Then she whispered, "That's a bright direction. There's a glowing there." The sound of her whisper startled her. She shook herself free and looked about to see whether anyone had been listening. Only the dogs had heard. They lifted their heads toward her from their sleeping in the dust, and then stretched out their chins and settled asleep again. Elisa turned and ran hurriedly into the house. In the kitchen she reached behind the stove and felt the water tank. It was full of hot water from the noonday cooking. In the bathroom she tore off her soiled clothes and flung them into the corner. And then she scrubbed herself with a little block of pumice, legs and thighs, loins and chest and arms, until her skin was scratched and red. When she had dried herself she stood in front of a mirror in her bedroom and looked at her body. She tightened her stomach and threw out her chest. She turned and looked over her shoulder at her back. After a while she began to dress, slowly. She put on her newest underclothing and her nicest stockings and the dress which was the symbol of her prettiness. She worked carefully on her hair, pencilled her eyebrows and rouged her lips. Before she was finished she heard the little thunder of hoofs and the shouts of Henry and his helper as they drove the red steers into the corral. She heard the gate bang shut and set herself for Henry's arrival. His step sounded on the porch. He entered the house calling, "Elisa, where are you?" "In my room, dressing. I'm not ready. There's hot water for your bath. Hurry up. It's getting late." When she heard him splashing in the tub, Elisa laid his dark suit on the bed, and shirt and socks and tie beside it. She stood his polished shoes on the floor beside the bed. Then she went to the porch and sat primly and stiffly down. She looked toward the river road where the willow-line was still yellow with frosted leaves so that under the high grey fog they seemed a thin band of sunshine. This was the only color in the grey afternoon. She sat unmoving for a long time. Her eyes blinked rarely. Henry came banging out of the door, shoving his tie inside his vest as he came. Elisa stiffened and her face grew tight. Henry stopped short and looked at her. "Why—why, Elisa. You look so nice!" "Nice? You think I look nice? What do you mean by 'nice'?" Henry blundered on. "I don't know. I mean you look different, strong and happy." "I am strong? Yes, strong. What do you mean 'strong'?" He looked bewildered. "You're playing some kind of a game," he said helplessly. "It's a kind of a play. You look strong enough to break a calf over your knee, happy enough to eat it like a watermelon." For a second she lost her rigidity. "Henry! Don't talk like that. You didn't know what you said." She grew complete again. "I'm strong," she boasted. "I never knew before how strong." Henry looked down toward the tractor shed, and when he brought his eyes back to her, they were his own again. "I'll get out the car. You can put on your coat while I'm starting." Elisa went into the house. She heard him drive to the gate and idle down his motor, and then she took a long time to put on her hat. She pulled it here and pressed it there. When Henry turned the motor off she slipped into her coat and went out. The little roadster bounced along on the dirt road by the river, raising the birds and driving the rabbits into the brush. Two cranes flapped heavily over the willow- line and dropped into the river-bed. Far ahead on the road Elisa saw a dark speck. She knew. She tried not to look as they passed it, but her eyes would not obey. She whispered to herself sadly, "He might have thrown them off the road. That wouldn't have been much trouble, not very much. But he kept the pot," she explained. "He had to keep the pot. That's why he couldn't get them off the road." The roadster turned a bend and she saw the caravan ahead. She swung full around toward her husband so she could not see the little covered wagon and the mismatched team as the car passed them. In a moment it was over. The thing was done. She did not look back. She said loudly, to be heard above the motor, "It will be good, tonight, a good dinner." "Now you're changed again," Henry complained. He took one hand from the wheel and patted her knee. "I ought to take you in to dinner oftener. It would be good for both of us. We get so heavy out on the ranch." "Henry," she asked, "could we have wine at dinner?" "Sure we could. Say! That will be fine." She was silent for a while; then she said, "Henry, at those prize fights, do the men hurt each other very much?" "Sometimes a little, not often. Why?" "Well, I've read how they break noses, and blood runs down their chests. I've read how the fighting gloves get heavy and soggy with blood." He looked around at her. "What's the matter, Elisa? I didn't know you read things like that." He brought the car to a stop, then turned to the right over the Salinas River bridge. "Do any women ever go to the fights?" she asked. "Oh, sure, some. What's the matter, Elisa? Do you want to go? I don't think you'd like it, but I'll take you if you really want to go." She relaxed limply in the seat. "Oh, no. No. I don't want to go. I'm sure I don't." Her face was turned away from him. "It will be enough if we can have wine. It will be plenty." She turned up her coat collar so he could not see that she was crying weakly—like an old woman.

[smolawkwardkidlat]

Fic First Lines

I saw this on @catsafarithewriter 's blog and thought it was nifty, so uh. yeah. all the apologies if this wasn’t your intention, Cat. 

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line. Then tag 10 of your favorite authors!

Tagging: anyone who wants to do this because I have honestly forgotten every Tumblr URL I ever knew. seriously, if you want an excuse, I tag you. 

these are all stories I’ve posted to AO3, in chronological order from oldest to newest, under whatever pseud. one is a WIP, and some of them I’m not proud of at all. I’ll put the line (and by line I mean like the first paragraph?), then the title and the fandom, like Cat did. 

small note, I omitted texting/message fics because the format made it difficult to pick the line, and I omitted Nothing Left and Whatever Remains (The Impossible) because the first lines were lifted from someone else’s work, the canon and the fic that inspired it respectively.

1. Lizzy had never minded what other people thought of her, especially because she was only six years old. (More Than My Dearest Friend. Pride and Prejudice. baby’s first fic, lol.) 

2. No one knew where they came from. [...] Any theories about their origins were pure speculation. However, they were there, the Sun and Shadow Summoners; always full of power and fire, just to the side of the foreground. Only they were rare, incredibly rare, so rare that for a while people wondered that they even still existed. (The Sons of Darkness. The Grisha Trilogy.) 

3. Dazai doesn’t much feel like doing anything today. (the moonlight on the water (is beautiful tonight). Bungou Stray Dogs.) 

4. Samael should not have come home. Heaven was full of angels who looked at him and his light silver-grey wings warily, never mind that the accursed things had been silver-grey since God had created them and Heaven couldn’t be full of angels because half of them were gone. (Destruction Follows In His Wake. Good Omens.) 

5. Cad wasn’t exactly what one would expect, if one only had his nickname to go by. He wasn’t tall or short, but he was lithe, with stormy grey eyes that sharpened almost to silver when he was angry or when he was excited, and a shock of thick, slightly curly, translucent hair that the doctors had pronounced mousy brown upon his birth. He had thin, expressive eyebrows and hands and a prominent, somewhat upturned nose. He looked curious, which he was, and he looked gentle, which he wasn’t. (a bit of a cad. The Graveyard Book.) 

6. “Cecil Jacobs is a big wet he-en!” Scout’s voice yelled suddenly. Arthur started at the noise. Was she walking home alone? In this darkness? Everyone in Maycomb but him would have difficulty seeing their hand in front of their face, even if they painted it white. No—even if he was growing up, Jem wouldn’t let his sister walk home alone, even just from the grammar school. Especially not on a night like this. (Boo, Arthur. To Kill A Mockingbird.) 

7.  It was a bad idea last time and this is the first glimmer of hope he has that it’s any less of one now. He hangs on to the sheets, to Ibarra’s hips, as if he can grasp that glimmer and gasp it to life. Maybe Ibarra can feel it, because his mouth curves into a smile where it touches Elias’s. Is it derision or delight? Elias doesn’t know the difference, when it comes to Ibarra; either one drives him wild. (Difference. Noli Me Tangere.) 

8. Ibarra falls in love when he is twenty-two, sitting in a boat on Laguna de Bay. (Third Time’s the Charm. Noli Me Tangere.) 

9. Ibarra startled awake to a dark sky and the chill of night in an open space [...]. His breath cut sharp against the sounds of the woods as he curled in on himself and raised his shaking hands to his face. There was no blood on them. The night was so still any sound louder than a footfall would be heard clearly. There were no gunshots. There were no screams. (i did not think to live this far. NMT.) 

10. The last day of the fiesta dawned promising and happy; the day brought with it the laying of the cornerstone of Ibarra’s new school, and if the town of San Diego was not perfectly content, they at least donned some semblance of the garment to go to morning mass. Padre Damaso forgot his sermon and frightened Padre Martin. Padre Sibyla adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses. (a lilac sky. NMT.) 

11. The twilight came on chilly and brisk, the sun lingering watchfully at the edge of the horizon as Elias strode home, trembling with fury. He was done. He was done with this town and he was glad he and the family he had left would leave it forever in a few hours. They could all go to hell and he would laugh as he dragged them there. (our twilight universe. NMT.) 

12. The crack of someone opening the door roused Elias from his restless, shallow slumber. (pillow talk. NMT.)

13. Elias doesn’t know if he’s hallucinating or dreaming. (a simulacrum of companionship. NMT.) 

14. Ibarra’s sigh melted into the near-total darkness of his room. Thirteen years on, and the nightmares still came, the anger still burned, just when he thought they had gone. He was beginning to suspect he might never be free of them, which seemed to be fair enough, considering all that had happened. It would have been stranger for him to come out of that maelstrom completely unscathed. (permets-tu? NMT.)

15. Elias took a breath, shallower than he liked. He flexed his fingers experimentally, and made a fist. It did not close quite as tightly as he was used to. “Haven’t you tied the knots too tight?” (So Help Me, God. NMT; WIP.) 

and this wasn’t posted to AO3, but in honor of the TCR fandom: 

16. The only excuse he has is that he is young and wild and stupid. He was raised by wild things and so knows no fear, not even of the things he should be afraid of. Cat is old enough to know what a car in the driveway means, but he’s also soft enough to let his friend watch excitedly from his ruff as the woman unlocks the door and airs out the abandoned house that has an owner after all. (the happiness i’ve found with you. The Cat Returns.) 

[whattimeisitintokyo]

Somos Familia Ch 38 Birthday Eve

Tomorrow is my birthday, so now I can relax knowing I got this GD chapter out! Hallelujah!

------

“Hola, Coco.” Miguel said happily, leaning in to give his sister a kiss on the cheek.

Coco smiled as she tilted her head to accept it. “How are you, Miguel?”

“Good, now that school is out.”

“Are you excited about your birthday tomorrow?”

“No.”

With a small sigh Coco shook her head and pointed a thumb to the back of the house. “Well go on to your little club meeting then. I’ll ring Papá and tell him you’re over here. You know how he worries.”

Miguel rolled his eyes. “Don’t remind me.”

“Don’t forget the Cokes!”

“Gracias, Coco!” Miguel grabbed two ice cold bottles out of the refrigerator and raced to Victoria’s bedroom upstairs, taking two steps at a time.

Over the years Coco’s house had become a sort of safe haven for Miguel to spend his free time. Yes, he had friends at school that he could hang out with, but nothing compared to how stress-free, homey and normal Coco’s house was. A spacious yet modest colonial style home built near the town’s border, it was the perfect place where Miguel could relax and actually be himself with no fear of his love of music being discovered by his parents.

Never really understanding his father’s unwavering stand on having no music listened to or played in his vicinity, Miguel was forced to keep his passions to himself until his older sister took pity on him and let him listen to dozens of records from her own private collection. He was also joined by his niece Victoria, and their shared secret hobby had led them to becoming each other’s best friend.

His smile faded as he reached the door when he saw another little girl standing in a huff in front of it, her face blotchy from having been crying, and she threw him a hard glare. With a stomp of her foot, she pointed at the door. “Tío, make her open up!”

“You’re not coming in here, Elena!” Victoria’s angry voice called out from the other side. “Get out of the way so Miguel can get through!”

Elena whined and hopped up and down. “Why does he get to come in and not me?!”

“Because he didn’t feed my tutu to your stupid goat!”

“Diego is not stupid! And I didn’t feed it to him, you just left it out!” Hands on her hips, she smiled smugly. “Besides you deserve it. If Abuelito knew that you were dancing he’d be mad at you. Maybe even hate you!”

Not liking how that line in particular made him feel, as well as not wanting to waste anymore time, Miguel held one of the Cokes out to Elena. “Here Elenita. Have a Coke.”

As her eyes settled on the bottle, Elena gasped in delight and reached for it. “Gracias tío!” Tilting it back and taking three large, refreshing gulps, she sighed in satisfaction. “Ahh, delicio-”

*SLAM!*

“HEY!”

Locking the door behind him as Miguel managed to zip inside, Victoria laughed and leaned against it while Elena kicked and yelled from the other side. She was already clad in her leotard and pointe shoes, but sans tutu of course. She nodded approvingly at Miguel. “Very clever Miguel. I’m impressed.”

Miguel chuckled and set the remaining bottle down. “Not that clever. Now we have to share one.”

“I know what you’re doing in there!” Elena screamed at them. “You’re dancing and playing music! Abuelito hates music! I’m gonna tell on you!”

“That’s only when Abuelito’s around, estupida! Mamá says we can do whatever we want with music as long as he’s not here, so you’re not allowed to tell!” Victoria crossed her arms and smiled smugly. “You’re just jealous because your legs are too short and fat to even walk, let alone try to dance.”

There was a moment of silence, before the sound of quick footfalls flying down the hallway and the piercing cry of “Mamá!” echoing off the walls let them know that they were finally alone. For now.

Miguel pulled his guitar out from underneath Victoria’s wardrobe, smiling reverently and brushing his fingers lightly against the crudely drawn skull on the stock. It was an old thing, the wood worn and splintering slightly along the edges despite how much gold paint he had slathered all over it. Limited artistic abilities aside he was quite pleased with how much he made it to look like Ernesto de la Cruz’s famous golden guitar. He just needed to get a Sharpie or something to draw in the final details. It wasn’t the best guitar in the world, but he was too scared to buy a brand new one. The fear of Papá somehow finding out kept him from doing so.

It could be worse though. It could have been a guitar made from scraps, screws and nails.

“So what do you want me to play?” Miguel asked as he tuned the strings to perfection. “Lago de los Cisnes again? Ooh, or maybe El Cascanueces because it’s almost the holidays. I’ve been working on the Russian dance if you’re up to the challenge.”

There was a time where Miguel wasn’t exactly fond of playing classical ballet songs for Victoria to dance to, considering it boring and her dancing to be prissy and goofy. That was until Victoria angrily challenged him to try it himself. He arrogantly agreed, and his one attempt to stand en pointe resulted in a dislocated big toe and a nail split down the middle. He had to lie to his parents about it too, saying that a horse had stepped on his foot. Now he treated Victoria’s dancing with the awe and pride that it deserved. And the songs were good practice for his plucking anyway.

“Not yet Miguel. First… I have to give you these.” Victoria placed a box in front of him, a small yet pleased smile on her face. “Feliz cumpleaños, Tío.”

With a roll of his eyes, Miguel took the lid off the box. “C’mon, Victoria. Why couldn’t you just wait to give it to me to-… morrow?...”

“Because Abuelito would throw a fit if I gave it to you in front of him.”

“Leather wrist bands!” Miguel cheered happily, throwing the box to the side and slipping the brown leather over his hands. “Just like the ones Tío Nesto used to wear! They actually look like the ones he wore in El Camino a Casa!”

Victoria nodded proudly. “Yep! I worked really hard on them to make it look exact.”

Miguel looked up at her in wonder as he finished fastening the buttons tight. “You made these?”

“Uh huh. I used leftover leather from the old workshop after the museum tour guide finished the shoe demonstration. I’m very good at weaving leather, who would have thought?”

The old workshop, along with the entire Rivera household, had finally run its course. After years of hemming and hawing Héctor had finally conceded that it was time to move into a bigger, safer house for his growing family. Not as flashy as any of Ernesto’s mansions, it was still an enormous complex with enough bedrooms for all the guests that were coming to Miguel’s birthday celebration. With high security walls, a lush garden full of both lovely flowers and fresh vegetables, and a five-car garage with the latest models inside, it was a house that truly showed off the Rivera’s wealth.

The old house had been turned into the Rivera Shoe museum, showcasing it as the origin of Imelda’s business as well as a small monument to the history of the family. There were demonstrations on basic shoe repair with workshops on cutting and sewing leather for tourists to enjoy, a gift shop to buy Rivera souvenirs as well as the usual fittings for their own custom-made shoes that they could order.

That was only during the weekdays. On the weekends it was closed to everyone but the family, and it was also where they would be having Miguel’s birthday party and where the ofrenda would be set up: So Leti could visit her real home.

But over the years the actual holiday came second to Miguel’s birthday. His father put all his time and energy into giving his youngest the best birthday a child could ask for: Mountains of food, games, presents and all his friends at school would come over and have the time of their lives.

Miguel had loved it.

At first.

But as he grew older his father’s exuberance over his birthday became more and more embarrassing. It was his main focus on all the days leading up to it, and on the day of the party he became unbearably chipper and happy.  Never mind the fact that Miguel would soon be turning twelve years old. Papá always acted like he was celebrating a five year old’s birthday. And despite the pleas from his friends parents Papá insisted that he celebrate his birthday on the day of, refusing to move it to another day so the families could also celebrate Dia de Muertos. Also since every party had no music for entertainment they became increasingly boring for all who came.

So eventually his friends stopped coming to his birthday parties, and it just became a family get together. Miguel would have rather just not celebrate at all, but Papá wouldn’t let him. He insisted that Miguel celebrate his birthday, but the boy knew by now that it wasn’t for his sake.

Papá needed to celebrate his birthday. To have something joyous to focus on, so as not to think about the daughter he had tragically lost, nor the day that his best friend and brother had been gruesomely ripped away from him. His birthday was a blessing to his father: the one good thing about Dia de Muertos.

And so Miguel endured it. But as he flexed his wrists and admired the exquisite craftsmanship of his sobrina, it made it feel like it would be easier to do so this year.

“Gracias, Victoria. They’re great! I feel just like Tío Nesto now!”

“De nada, Miguel.” Victoria smiled warmly. “And yes, I would like to try the Russian Dance. Your tempo has been poor lately, I’d hate to see if those wrist bands somehow make it worse.”

“Ha! Yeah right, just try to keep up!” Miguel laughed, and broke out with a loud flourish of his guitar. 

----

“Well I hope you enjoyed your little nap, Héctor.” Vicente grumbled as he and his supposed boss walked down the streets of Santa Cecilia, both munching on street food. “It’s not like quarterly report meetings are that important to your financial wellbeing as well as the thousands of people who work under you. And the board was even willing to come all the way to Santa Cecilia just so it wouldn’t upset your holiday plans.”

Héctor waved him off. “Ah, Chente, I’m just a figurehead for the company. You’re the one who should care about these things, not me. I’m like the uh… I’m the King George to your Neville Chamberlain!”

“It’s Churchill now.”

“Whatever. The point is you take care of the important stuff while I force a grin and wish the shareholders a happy holidays once a year.” Héctor grumbled, taking a huge bite of a tortilla filled to the brim with garlic, onions and fried chapulines. “Mmm… Oh yeah, last batch of the season is always the best… Besides I caught some of it. Especially when old man Tapia suggested we shut down some of the soup kitchens. Can you believe it?! That viejo looks like he’s never missed a meal in his life! He has no idea what it’s like to starve or do a hard day’s work for your food. Do you know what my first job was ever?”

“Catching grasshoppers when you were four years old.”

“Catching grasshoppers when I was!-… Oh, I told you that one, huh?” Héctor mumbled. “Well no matter. My grandchildren are coming in from America for the celebration tomorrow. They’ll appreciate my stories!”

Vicente smiled. “Ah, I haven’t gotten to see the newest one yet. It’s nice that they get to experience an authentic celebration for Dia de M-”

“Miguel’s birthday!” Héctor cut in quickly, his grin stretching a little wider than normal. “Si, it’s nice they get to see celebrate their tío’s birthday. All kids love parties, right?”

Vicente winced a little, nervously thumbing through the work papers in his hand. “… Right. Still I love this time of year. I remember being so excited to get to stay up all night for the festivals in my hometown when I was little. Helping my Papá decorate the ofrenda, sampling all the dishes my Mamá and my sisters cooked. The stories. I’m sure your grandchildren will love it. It’s always exciting to experience it the first time with your family when you’re little.”

“Wouldn’t know.” Héctor grumbled around a mouthful of tortilla, his earlier mirth gone. Vicente could tell he was trying to shoot down this conversation flat. “My parents dumped me in the orphanage when I was a baby, and the nuns thought Dia de Muertos was too pagan to celebrate. Didn’t really join in on the festivities until I moved out with E-…” Héctor paused, a flicker of pain in his eyes, before he forcefully swallowed down a too dry bite. “Until I had a family of my own.”

“Ay, Dios mio, speaking of families! Sorry Héctor I forgot.” Flicking through the pages he pulled out a couple of sheets. “I had this under miscellaneous since it had nothing to do with this morning’s meeting, but a certain Señor Domingo Cavallero approached me with this last evening while I was in the market.”

Héctor stared at the papers and groaned in disgust as he took them. “Domingo Cavallero? What does he want?”

Ever since the late elder Cavallero had brutally lost his position of the town’s mayor and the source of his embezzlement was taken from him, the whole family’s wealth had been steadily decreasing over the years. So set in their old ways they had kept up their lavish lifestyle until the pooled funds had trickled down into a puddle. What was once a proud and dignified family now lay on the very brink of heading off to the poor house. Héctor remembered quite clearly ever since he was a little boy the way Domingo had sneered in disgust at him every so often when their paths happened to cross. Now the former mayor’s son was coming to him?

“It seems that he and his son Ignacio are trying to build a hotel nearby. A family venture, he said, though it’s clear it’s a desperate attempt to reclaim their past wealth. I’m assuming they’ve scrounged up whatever money they’ve got left over to fund it but it’s not enough. They are humbly asking for a donation from you to make their dream come true… Or, rather, as humble as they are capable. I spent two minutes with the man and his son, and it was two minutes too many.”

“’El Dorado.’” Héctor read the description. “Hmph, very original… ‘A glorious extravaganza that combines superb customer service, gourmet meals delivered right to your room, and an astounding décor guaranteed to amaze and excite every guest.’”

“Sí. They’ve included blueprints and an artist’s rendering of the place to further incite you.”

Flipping to the next page, Héctor’s eyes widened as he looked at the illustrated drawing of what looked like the main lobby: Everything was gold. Gold furniture, gold wallpaper, gold plants. The wet bar, the piano in the lounge. Carpet, drapery, every single item nearly the exact same shade of gold. Not one other color to balance it out, not even a white or a brown. Just gold and gold alone.

“…This is the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“I’ve been told Ignacio came up with the theme himself.”

“That’s not saying much. How much are they asking me to contribute?”

“Oh, roughly seventy five percent.”

“Seventy-five?!” Héctor sputtered, folding the sheets in half and flinging them back to Vicente as if holding them anymore would burn his skin. “Why don’t I just pay for the whole damn thing myself?! Anyone with half a brain cell can tell that that… thing… wouldn’t last even half a year. Well, you can tell them that I am simply not interested in putting my time and effort into a lost cause.”

“Wh-?... Oh you’ve got to be kidding me!”

Héctor looked over to see Vicente with his face in his hand in frustration, and grimaced. “What, you think I should pay money for this basura?”

Vicente looked up. “Huh? Oh, no, I agree. It’s an eye sore. I’m sorry Héctor, but something’s just come up. I need to go to the cemetery for a minute, I’ll meet you at the house for lunch. Adios!”

Héctor blinked, just now noticing that they were in front of the town’s cemetery. As he watched Vicente head straight towards Ern-… The biggest mausoleum in the center of it all, he immediately turned heel and walked away as quickly as he could. All he needed to do was wind through some off the path streets, far away from the plaza, and he would be home. It would take longer, but that was okay. All the more time to plan for Miguel’s birthday surprise tomorrow. Héctor smiled, he was so excited to see Miguel’s face light up when he told him the big news. And he would have to thank Chente afterwards, he gave him the idea after all! He couldn’t w-

“Arf!”

“Gyah!”

Looking down Héctor sighed in relief when he just saw Dante, once again, sneak up on him and scare the living daylights out of him. And he wasn’t so sure if it was purely unintentional on the dog’s part either. “Hola Dante. You’re looking… remarkably well these days, especially for a twenty-year-old dog. No arthritis, vision loss, anything?… Sometimes I think you won’t die until you take me with you, the way you keep scaring me.”

Dante yipped again and gently tugged on Héctor’s pants leg, pulling him back towards the road to the plaza, but Héctor shook free of him. “Stop it Dante. If you’re going to the plaza you can bother someone else there. Because I’m not going. Now go on.”

Ignoring the whine of the dog behind him, Héctor made his way home. He had a party to organize, after all. And a surprise.

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

Walking up the path towards the mausoleum, glancing around to see if there was no one else within earshot to hear them, Vicente approached the man standing at the front gate glaring inside. Wrapped up in a thick poncho and wrinkled baggy pants, he held a cigar to the side before bringing it in for a thick puff. His wild sandy brown hair, thin patchy facial hair and piercing golden eyes made him look like he was a dirty vagabond no different from the ones lounging out in the street of the slums. No one would ever be able to tell that he was actually the head of the entire art department for Rivera de la Cruz productions with several prestigious awards to his name.

Especially not the way he was pouting childishly at the painting of Ernesto de la Cruz mounted high above his crypt and his shiny golden guitar.

“Javier, what are you doing back here?” Vicente asked tiredly.

“Just looking at the artistic travesty that has the power to make every true artist unfortunate to lay eyes on it retch in disgust.” Javier blew out a thick cloud of smoke, sneering all the while. “Look at it. Any child with a broken crayon could have made a better likeness of Señor de la Cruz.”

“Javi, how many times must we do this?”

Javier ignored him, continuing bitterly. “The background is such a slash and slop of blurs that it gives true focus on the face. That ugly horrid face that looks nothing like the man himself. Such cold, dead, expressionless eyes. You can feel it sucking your soul out.”

“Javi-”

“And that chin cleft. Is it a cleft, or did a psychopath just cut into him with a rusty knife? Might as well have given him a Glasgow grin while we’re at it.”

“Javi!”

“The person who made this painting should be drawn and quartered in front of the entire artistic community in order to avenge the death of art itself!”

Pinching his nose as he felt the pain of a headache coming, Vicente growled out. “Javier, Javi, mi amor… For the millionth time, and I don’t know why I have to keep saying this… YOU painted it!”

“All the more reason why I’m allowed to critique it.” Javier smiled widely in a way he knew always made his lover’s inside squirm. Seeing him flush slightly Javier drew his attention back to the painting. “I can’t believe I used to think that this was my masterpiece. You’d think I was the one on drugs at the time, not the other way around... Heh, though I was tempted to add a few white sprinkles on there. Ha ha!... But seriously this thing is un pedazo de mierda.”

Vicente sighed. “Look, if it bothers you so much maybe you can retouch it a little? Or we can put in another painting.”

Javier whirled around, eyes blazing fire and cheeks burning red. “And sully the greatest contribution to society I have ever made?! Commissioned by Ernesto de la Cruz himself, Mi obra maestra, mon pièce de résistance?! Are you loco?!”

Vicente stared blankly at him, then turned to leave. “I give up. I’m going to the house for lunch. Stay here and starve or come and eat, I don’t care anymore.”

“Ooh, comida!” Hopping down the stairs and running up next to Vicente, he flicked the head of his burnt off cigar up into the air, not caring when it landed in an offering dish of one of the graves with a clang. “Gonna get me some carnitaaas~…”

Fighting back a smile, Vicente pretended to glare at him. “You’re hopeless.”

“I’m hopeless?” Javier chuckled haughtily as he attempted to smooth down his flyaway hair. “No, I’m an artist. I live in the now, paint what’s in my heart, love it and then despise it years down the road. It’s part of the package deal, you’ve known that for a long time. No, you are the one that’s hopeless.”

“Me?”

“Sí, tonto.” Javier said. “This hopeless idea of yours: Getting Héctor Rivera to take his little coddled son under his wing and to pursue music with Rivera de la Cruz Productions. The same man who practically hisses like a cat at the mere sound of even a maraca shaken by a baby? Yes, I do think it’s hopeless. Childish even. A fool’s dream.”

“I think it’s a good idea!” Vicente said grouchily, shoving Javier slightly to the side. “And Héctor has always known that Miguel is nothing like his brother in terms of interests. So, while Mateo works with his mother and follows in her footsteps, literally in their case, heh… then Miguel will follow in his father’s! This will give Miguel an opportunity to branch out on his own and eventually and pursue his musical dreams. Maybe a record producer, or a talent agent. He’ll be surrounded by music. I think it will be a nice birthday present for him from his father. And since it was my idea then technically it’s my present to the boy.”

Javier hummed a little at that, worried. “I don’t know… Are you sure you convinced him properly?”

Vicente huffed. “Please, Javi. If I can convince Pedro Infante to record a cover album of the best of de la Cruz at half his normal pay rate, then I can convince Héctor to let Miguel work in the music industry. Trust me, when this all falls into place, you will be bowing down to me in awe and praise.”

“Ooh, that would be a nice change of pace, eh? Usually it’s the other way around.” Javier smiled widely again, enough to wipe Vicente’s smirk off his reddened face, and was shoved away again with more force.

-------

“Mija, I’m coming in.”

“Is Elena with you?”

“Sí.”

“She’s not allowed in, Mamá! I’ve forbidden her!”

“Too bad, I’m overriding you. Come unlock the door. Now.”

With a loud, drawn out groan Victoria unlocked the door and opened it for her mother to come in. Julio was also with her, holding onto Elena’s tiny hand as the little girl sniffled and glared daggers at her older sister. Victoria stuck her tongue out at her, which Elena paid in kind with a full-blown raspberry. Before a full-blown slap fight could break out Coco flicked both girls on the forehead. “Stop it.”

“She fed my tutu to Diego, Mamá!”

“She called me short and fat!”

“No, I said your legs were-”

“I said stop!” Coco said loudly, and when both girls quieted down she stood over them with her arms crossed. “Now, what do I always say when you two fight over silly things like this?”

The two sisters, still glaring at each other, said through gritted teeth “‘Be nice to your sister, because she’s the only one you’ve got’.”

“That’s right.” Coco said. “You’ll never know how precious she is to you until, somehow, she’s gone for good.”

Both girls immediately looked at their mother with wide eyes before ducking their heads in shame, while Julio gently took his wife’s hand for support. “We’re sorry Mamá.”

Miguel had never known his older sister Leti. Despite all the stories he had heard about her over the years, she was a practical stranger to him. He knew how she had acted with Coco and Matty, but the feeling that he had never had his own relationship with her gave him a weird empty feeling in his chest. He didn’t know how her voice sounded, how she laughed, any of her own special quirks and tics. And yet there was a longing deep within him to know what she was like, so strange to long for something that he never had. He knew, however, that his pain was several times less than the ones who actually knew her.

To break up to sudden tension, Miguel set aside his guitar and grinned. “I guess I’m lucky that my brother and sister are too old to fight with. Older than dirt-OW!”

“I’m not too old to flick you too, gordito.” Coco smirked as Miguel rubbed his stinging forehead. “Now Miguel I know you’re never especially thrilled when it’s your birthday, but I think this year will be different.” Coco said, an excited grin threatening to burst out. “Because I have a surprise for you.”

“A surprise?”

Before Coco could elaborate, Elena bounced up and down happily and squealed. “I think I know! Tia Rosita is pregnant again, right?!”

Miguel blinked, completely unsurprised. “Oh, is she?”

Julio snorted derisively and crossed his arms. “That’s not a surprise. That’s becoming an annual holiday itself.”

“Julio!” Coco hissed, glaring at her husband. “That’s not true!”

“She's right, Papá.” Victoria smirked. “Osvaldo and Facunito are only nine and a half months apart.”

“Victoria! Both of you!” Coco sighed in exasperation. “No, Rosita is not pregnant!... I think… Well, she might b- I don’t know! That’s not what the surprise is anyway! This is the surprise!”

A pink sheet of paper was thrust into Miguel’s face, and it took a second for him to focus on what was on it. Decorated with black painted skulls and dancing skeletons, the words ‘Dia De Muertos Talent Show’ stood out in big bold letters. Taking it from his sister’s hands, Miguel looked at it in confusion for just a moment before a creeping sense of understanding and hope started to well within. “The talent show? You mean… I get to go see it?”

“No.”

Miguel sputtered. “Wh-?! What gives Coco?!”

“You’re not going to see it hermanito, you’re going to be in it! I signed you up as the first act and you’re going to play in front of the whole town! Now everyone can finally see how talented you truly are!” Coco cried out, smiling widely and grabbing her astonished little brother into a huge bear hug. “Feliz cumpleaños, Miguel!”

Miguel gaped in awe as his sister let him go, looking at the poster, then his guitar on the bed, then to Coco. Slowly a grin formed on his face and he laughed out loud. “Really?! I’m going to play in the talent show?! I can’t believe it!”

“I want to see that!” Victoria added happily. “That’s so exciting!”

“Gracias, Coco! Gracias gracias gracias-”

“No!” Elena shouted, causing everyone to look at her. The poor girl looked both angry and a little afraid as she clutched her mother’s skirt tightly and tugged it frantically. “No he can’t! It’s one thing to play in the house, but in front of people?! Abuelito will be mad for sure!”

Victoria groaned. “Ay Mamá, why did you have to show Miguel’s secret present in front of el lengua larga? She’ll blab for sure.”

“I won’t blab if he doesn’t go!” Elena cried, and hurried over to Miguel’s guitar. Clumsily she lifted it and placed the large instrument behind her back, as if thinking that if it was out of sight then it was out of mind. “Please don’t perform tío! If you go on stage you’ll be hurt or even killed. Just like Ernesto de la Cruz!”

“That was an accident Elenita. It had nothing to do with music.” Miguel said dismissively. “And what’s so bad about wanting to be like Ernesto de la Cruz? We all used to know him, you didn’t. He was the greatest of all time.”

“You want to end up like him too?! Smooshed flat, and the only thing left of you would be a picture on the ofrenda?!”

Miguel rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “I don’t care if I’m on some stupid ofrenda.”

While everyone else in the room winced at Miguel casual disregard for tradition, Elena gasped so long and hard, her eyes and mouth wide with pure horror, it was almost comical. Turning to look at the guitar in her hands, her brow furrowed, and her face scrunched up in absolute hatred and disgust. Lifting the guitar as high as she could go, and with a warlike cry, the brought it to the ground!

*thunk*

….

*thunk*

Coco sighed. “Elena, what are you doing?”

Straining as hard as she could, Elena brought the guitar down again and again. “Mmph!... Trying to- uuff!... break the- nnyah!... guitar!” She tried and tried again, but the instrument was both too sturdy and too cumbersome to maneuver properly, and she lacked both the strength and the force to damage it even a little. The guitar simply made some light twangy sounds as the strings were slightly squeezed and brushed against, almost as if the instrument was just as annoyed as everyone else by what was happening.

“Stop it Elena. You’re going to scratch it!”

“It’s already scratched Miguel. One more won’t hurt it.”

“Callate…”

Huffing with exertion now and sweating, Elena started to struggle with the large object. “I can do it… Haa… haa… I can do it! Gah! Tío, help.”

“No, I’m not gonna help you smash my guitar!” Miguel yelled angrily, swiping the guitar away from her. “I’m playing in the plaza tomorrow for my birthday. Your Mamá gave it to me as a present, and I’m gonna enjoy it! Period!”

“But-!”

“Elena…” Julio said sternly, getting his daughter’s attention. “You won’t say anything to your Abuelito about this, alright? I know you’re afraid of what he might say, but what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him. And he won’t know if you don’t say anything. Claro?”

“But-!”

“You must always listen to your parents. Please don’t ruin this for Miguel, okay?”

Elena looked at her parents, then her sister, Miguel, and back to her parents. As her face reddened more and more and her cheeks puffed up to the point of bursting, she fled the room in tears and ran down the hallway wailing. Coco sighed as he watched her daughter run off then patted Miguel on the back. “Don’t worry. Everything will be alright.”

“What if she’s right though?” Miguel asked softly, holding the flyer tightly to his chest as if he was afraid that even that could be taken away from him at any second. “What if Papá finds out? Or Mamá? They would never let me go.”

“We won’t let them find out, we promise.” Coco said gently. “Matty, Victoria and I will be there to cheer you on, while Julio will distract them long enough for you to perform.”

“Th-that’s right!” Julio nodded and laughed nervously. “I mean-… I-I can do that! I can… Lie… to my father-in-law and my mo-… It shouldn’t be too hard, right? I can- Sí, I can do that!”

“Sounds like you’ll need all the help you can get, Julio.” A voice suddenly popped up. “And should I be concerned about Elena flailing about on the couch downstairs? She looked like she was starting to turn blue.”

The four turned and smiled to see Wanda standing in the doorway, dressed in a fancy travel suit and holding a suitcase in one hand. Holding onto her other hand was a small boy, smiling shyly and wearing an adorable cowboy outfit complete with tiny Rivera boots. The small ten gallon hat couldn’t hide the dark wavy curls of his hair poking out from underneath and his face was a little dirt smudged. He carried a brightly wrapped birthday present in his other arm and held it out to Miguel. “Happy birthday, Uncle Miguel.”

“Charlie!” Victoria cried out and enveloped the small boy into a big hug, his round face smooshed against her shoulder. “Charlie, mi primo favorito! Oh Charlie, you look so cute! What are you dressed as?”

Charlie smiled sweetly up at Victoria. “The Lone Ranger. I got a plastic gun and bows and arrows in my bag, too. Can we play?”

“We can later.” Miguel said, taking the present from his nephew and knocking on the top of his hardened cowboy hat. “Thank you for the present, Carlos.”

The little boy’s smile faded and he gave an adorable pout. “My name is Charlie.”

“Not here. In Mexico you’re Carlos.”

“Basta, Miguel!” Victoria snapped, and gave Charlie another hug. “Oh, I missed you so much Charlie. You are my most favorite primo ever. So sweet and cute.”

“What about Dahlia?” Miguel asked. “And Margarita? And Anselmo? And Osvaldo, Facunito, and Amapola?”

“I don’t see him every single day of my life, and he doesn’t drive me crazy as soon as he enters the room.” Victoria said. “That’s what makes him my favorite.” Behind her Julio nodded silently in agreement with a shudder, and Coco swatted him with a glare.

“Matthew has already told me the game plan for tomorrow, Miguel.” Wanda said as she placed Charlie’s suitcase full of toys down and began to unpack it for him. “But if this is going to work then Julio, Coco and I should talk about how we’re going to keep your father from guessing what’s happening. Don’t you worry.”

“Gracias, Wanda.” Miguel said, walking over to hug her in gratitude. “Your Spanish has gotten really good by the way.”

Wanda returned the hug and smiled proudly. “Of course it has. That’s what happens after long term exposure, being outrageously intelligent and having the internal drive to learn new things. I mean seriously, did you have any doubts in my ability to learn it?”

“Sí.” “Yes.” “Sorry.” “I, uh-... Sí…”

Wanda huffed irritably at the slight, but brushed it off and bent down to her son to speak in English. “Now you be careful when you play, alright? Your arm is still a little weak, so be extra gentle. No cops and robbers or anything like that, alright?”

“Okay, Mommy.”

“Oh that’s right!” Victoria said, bending down to look the little boy in the eye. “You broke your arm a few months ago! I was so sorry to hear that. Elena even cried when she heard.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry too.” Miguel asked. “Did it hurt? What happened?”

Gripping his left arm slightly, Charlie grinned as if he was telling a funny joke. “Daddy is the one who broke my arm.”

“WHAT?!”

“Matty broke your arm?!”

As the two children gasped and shouted at what they heard, both Coco and Julio winced as they looked at Wanda with pity. Wanda placed her hands over her mouth and sighed sadly, shaking her head wearily. “Charlie, you weren’t supposed to tell anyone that.”

“Oh, sorry.”

Miguel shook his head. “Man, you must have gotten into big trouble if Matty broke your arm-OW!” He rubbed his shoulder where Victoria had socked him hard, but before he could say anything Charlie continued.

“He didn’t mean to.” Charlie said softly. “Mommy says something scared him and he was trying to protect me, but did it too hard. Daddy was very sorry, he cried for a long time. I didn’t know grown-up men cried! My arm was in this itchy cast for a long time and Daddy let me eat ice cream for breakfast every day after that!” Charlie’s smile faded at that, and a slightly nauseous grimace passed over him. “I don’t like ice cream any more…”

“Guys listen.” Wanda said to the two older children in a serious tone. “I don’t want you to let Matthew know that you know about this, all right? It is a very sensitive subject that he feels terrible about, I don’t want him to feel any worse. It’s in the past and we’re moving forward.”

“Is Matty all right?” Miguel asked softly.

“He’s fine.” Wanda said assuredly, holding her son closely. “We’re all going to be fine. Just like tomorrow is going to be fine. Don’t worry. Everything is under control.”

-----

Héctor smiled as he held the whining baby high above his head, puffing out his cheeks and crossing his eyes until she dissolved into giggles. Lowering her down he blew loud raspberries onto each cheek until she squealed before giving her a kiss on the forehead. It was such a treat to see his granddaughter Clara again, not having seen her since shortly after her birth. Living in the United States prevented him from seeing her and Charlie regularly, so he relished the opportunity to see and hold her while she was still so small. He was also happy to see that after five months her eyes still had the same lovely shade of blue as her mother’s, his only grandchild to have different colored eyes. As the baby quieted down again, he nodded to his son. “Keep going mijo.”

Matty nodded somberly, downing his cup of coffee and handing it over for Imelda to refill. He nervously fidgeted with the polished knob of his cane, a necessity for his damaged leg, and shook his head with intense remorse.

“It was an old truck backfiring.” Matty said quietly. “It was so loud and sudden, especially on a quiet street. We were just walking to the park, talking amongst ourselves, and then ‘bang!’… Dios, it took just a millisecond. At that moment I wasn’t in Houston anymore, I swear all I could see was smoke and all I could smell was mud and decay and-…I just reacted.”

“The next thing I knew Charlie was underneath me, and he was screaming… I was frozen, just watching my son scream in pain, until Wanda was shouting ‘Get off of him Matt! Get off of him!’… Wanda rode with him in the ambulance, and she took the baby too, because I couldn’t touch her. I couldn’t touch him for days, I just felt so sick with what I had done to my little boy. Not even five years old and I had broken his arm. I tackled my son, trying to protect him by reflex, and I broke his pinche arm. Dios, Wanda was holding our newborn daughter at the time, if it had been them that I-!”

“Shh…” Imelda hushed him, rubbing his white knuckled grip on his cane until his fingers loosened. “But you didn’t. They’re both fine, and so is Charlie. They all know that you didn’t mean to hurt him.”

Matty nodded shakily, smiling at his mother in thanks. “Yeah… Yeah, I know. Sometimes it’s hard to believe that, but my therapist says that line of thinking is normal for someone with my condition. I’m trying to get better-”

“You’re seeing a shrink?” Héctor asked, his brow furrowing to show his confusion and slight aversion to the very idea. “But why? Everything turned out alright, Charlie’s arm is better. It’s fine.”

“No, Papá, it’s not fine. In fact, it hasn’t been fine for a very long time for me.” Matty said. “Over the years a lot of things have bothered me. Certain smells trigger images in my mind, I can’t stand the sound of fireworks, even low flying planes make me freeze up and panic. I’ve been dealing with it for years by simply avoiding it, like not accompanying my family for Fourth of July picnics or other situations where these triggers might occur. But this last incident made me realize that I can’t avoid the unpredictable.”

Héctor still looked uncertain as Matty spoke, but Imelda nodded encouragingly for him to continue.

“Wanda recommended a therapist from the hospital she works at. He’s good, Papá. He diagnosed me with shell-shock, something that a lot of former soldiers get so it’s not just me. But that's not all. He says my triggers go all the way back to Leti’s death, how it still affects my emotions and my interactions with my family to this day. I’m sure you all already know about that, but I didn’t really see it until he spelled it out for me. That I sometimes hurt them, and you guys, unintentionally. That I’m somewhat, well… emotionally stunted. But he’s been helping me a great deal. I feel like I’m making progress so far.”

“That’s wonderful, mijo.” Imelda said, leaning over to kiss his cheek and grimacing at the scratchiness of it. “Maybe your therapist can convince you to shave as well.”

“I can’t.” Matty laughed, running his fingers down his goatee and grateful for the well-intentioned nagging to lighten the mood. “Last time I did Charlie cried for a whole day; thought I was a stranger instead of his Daddy. I’d hate to do that to Clara as well.”

Héctor cleared his throat uncomfortably, then turned his attention back to the baby in his arms. “Sí, well good for you mijo. If you think that’s what you need then I’m happy for you. And this little girl is happy too. Aren’t you, cileita? Look at Abuelito. Ay, que lindaaa…”

As Héctor babbled and cooed at the baby, he didn’t notice that Matty and Imelda exchanged worried glances at each other. He continued until Matty cleared his own throat to get his attention, and his smile faded when he saw the two of them staring intently at him. “What?”

Standing up and walking with the aid of the cane, Matty reached out an arm and gently took his daughter out of Héctor’s hold. “Um, Papá… What I just told you about my struggles… Didn’t that seem at all, I don’t know… Familiar to you in any way?”

Héctor blinked dumbly at that, starting to not like how Imelda was starting to look sad as she stared at him. “No?”

Matty huffed out a sigh. “Come on, Papá. You must see where I’m coming from: Triggers that upset you, make you angry and in turn upset everyone around you? Avoidance of certain stimuli, to the point of outright banning it? Do you understand?”

“Oh… Oh!” Héctor laughed out, relieved. “Oh, I understand what you’re saying now. The music thing. Listen, it’s just not my kind of thing anymore. I know I owe a great deal to it, that the whole family does, but it’s time to move on. There’s more to our business than music, you know. There’s the hospitals, the schools, the canning factories, and of course the shoe business that you have turned into an empire all by yourself, my clever boy. Did I hear that they’re going to be on almost every athlete’s feet in the Olympics next year?”

“Please don’t change the subject, Papá.” Matty said in exasperation. “It’s not like you don’t care for music anymore Papá. You can’t stand it. You’re afraid of it.”

Héctor smiled, again a little too widely, and patted his son’s shoulder. “You think that- Ay yi yi, such a sweet boy, thinking about your Papá like that. Well you don’t have to worry about me, Matty.”

“Papá, you don’t listen to music. You don’t want anyone to listen to music. You’re avoiding it because it’s a trigger! And the thing about triggers is sometimes you can’t avoid them. If you don’t prepare yourself you could end up hurting yourself or worse: someone you love!”

“I don’t have what you have, Mateo. That, uh-… shell-shock, right? No, I don’t have it. I’m not a soldier, this is completely different.”

“It doesn’t always have to be about fighting in a war Papá.” Matty explained. “It can be caused by a very traumatic event that you witness. And I can’t think of anything more traumatic than watching your best friend-”

“I do not… have… shell shock!” Héctor snapped, pointing a finger to both his son and his wife. “We don’t need music, we’ve gone nine years without it, and we’re fine. I don’t avoid it, I just don’t like it anymore. I’m not like you, alright?! I don’t need help! I don’t need a shrink! I’m not crazy!”

“Héctor!”

At his wife’s hissing voice Héctor stopped his tirade in shock. Clara was crying in her father’s arms, deeply disturbed that the sweet old man who had held her before was now loud and scary. And Matty looked at his father, jaw clenched and eyes downcast. His throat bobbed a few times and Héctor saw his lips tremble a little before he looked up to glare at his father.

“You think… I’m crazy, Papá?”

“No!” Héctor gasped, placing his hands gently on his son. “Oh no, not you mijo, no… You’re uh… a special case. You have a condition, si? Happens to soldiers all the time, like you said right? If it makes you feel better than I’m all for it! You go to your shrink, and-”

“It’s therapist, Héctor.” Imelda said harshly, glaring at him as she moved to stand next to her son. “Not shrink. You say it like it’s a disease.”

Héctor sagged, not looking either of them in the eye anymore. “Therapist, right…”

Not liking how the fun visit with his son and granddaughter had turned so toxic and claustrophobic so fast, Héctor inched his way out the door to make a hasty retreat. “Listen, I think we need to just forget about this, so I’ll just leave for a while. I’m gonna go to the house- I mean… the museum. Get it all ready for the party tomorrow. That’s why you’re here, right Matty? Gotta make it a special day for your brother! Okay, I’ll see you later!”

As they both watched Héctor race towards the garage in an effort to get as far away and as fast as possible, Matty soothed his daughter back into an easy slumber and mumbled softly. “I’m here for my sister too… Guess he’s avoiding that as well…”

“I’m so sorry, Mateo.” Imelda hugged her son close and rubbed his back. “He didn’t mean to upset you. I know you tried to help, but he needs to want to be helped, claro?”

“He’s only getting worse Mamá.”

Imelda shook her head. “He’s not usually this bad. He has his good days more than his bad. It’s just that this time of year is so hard on him, you understand right? It was a terrible day for all of us, but even more so for your father. It nearly destroyed him.”

“I just wanted to help him. Help all of us… At least I tried.”

“Yes you did. It will be alright, mijo.” She smoothed back his hair and took the sleeping baby from his arms to give her a kiss. “Let’s change the subject, sí? I want to know all about your plans for Helsinki next year! How many pairs of shoes are we talking about?”

Matty smiled softly at his mother, letting her drag him into a boring, yet calming, conversation about shoes once again to soothe the pain of his father’s words. As he and Imelda talked about the Olympics next year, the upcoming winter catalogue, the demand to not smoke in the kitchen, and the vague plans of expanding to include a clothing line in the upcoming future, things seemed to fall back into a relative peace. There was still hurt there in Héctor’s heart, but nothing they couldn’t overcome as a family.

Things couldn’t possibly get any worse, right?

-----

As Victoria put away her pointe shoes into it’s shoe box she looked up to see Miguel staring at the contest poster.

Again.

For probably the billionth time within the last hour.

Her Mamá’s surprise had really put a damper on their little practice session, and soon even Charlie had grown bored with the lack of guitar playing from his tío and had gone off to play with Elena instead. Miguel just sat and stared at the poster with that dumb grin on his face, tracing the letters and illustrations with reverence like he did with all his other de la Cruz memorabilia.

But even if she felt like she didn’t get enough practice in, Victoria found that she didn’t really mind it in the slightest. She could see Miguel already going through the performance in his head, his eyes closing momentarily as if basking in applause that only he could hear. Then he’d continue to look at the poster and the process would repeat.

It was dumb, but Victoria was glad. It was about time Miguel was excited about something for his birthday. She couldn’t wait to see the performance herself. And maybe, hopefully, this would be a stepping stone for her. Maybe she would one day get to perform on stage, maybe even get a real teacher. Share a stage with her ballet idols. It was exciting to think about, but for now she would just be happy for Miguel.

“So, musico…” Victoria hummed, smiling when Miguel dumbly broke free from his trance to look at her. “What are you going to play tomorrow?”

With an excited grin, Miguel looked at the poster again and nodded to himself. Confidently. Assuredly. “Definitely Remember Me!”

Victoria sighed. “Why did I even ask?”

[coastdesignbuild]

Current Plans of Kitchen and Bathroom Redesigning in San Diego

In the domain of home remodeling, the kitchen and washroom are two spaces that hold colossal importance. They are helpful regions and act as spots of comfort and restoration. With the fast development of configuration patterns, kitchen, and restroom renovation has become a groundbreaking cycle coordinating feel, usefulness, and advancement. San Diego, known for its lively design scene, embraces contemporary styles and offers mortgage holders plenty of choices to revive their kitchens and washrooms. This article investigates some of the cutting-edge plans for washroom renovation and kitchen remodeling San Diego displaying imaginative ideas and the groundbreaking force of these spaces. I. Present-day kitchen remodeling San Diego: The kitchen frequently alluded to as the core of a home, has developed into a multifunctional space that consolidates cooking, eating, and mingling. Current kitchen redesigning plans in San Diego epitomize the accompanying components: • Open Idea Format: The open idea format is a sign of the current kitchen plan. Eliminating walls and boundaries make a consistent stream between the kitchen and bordering regions, like the lounge area or front room. This plan encourages a network feeling and considers simple communication with family and visitors. • Moderate Feel: Clean lines, smooth surfaces, and a moderate feel portray current kitchen plans. San Diego property holders are progressively attracted to straightforward, mess-free spaces that ooze polish and refinement. Nonpartisan variety ranges, like whites, grays, and earth tones, make a quiet climate. • Brilliant Apparatuses and Innovation: Current kitchen redesigning coordinates savvy apparatuses and innovation to improve usefulness and accommodation. From brilliant fridges with touchscreen connection points to voice-controlled lighting frameworks, these highlights smooth out day-to-day errands and hoist the general cooking experience. II. Contemporary bathroom remodeling San Diego: Restrooms have progressed from utilitarian spaces to private withdraws that advance unwinding and prosperity. Present-day restroom renovation plans in San Diego envelop the accompanying patterns: • Spa-Propelled Retreats: Making a spa-like environment in the washroom is a famous pattern in San Diego. Property holders try to change their washrooms into quiet, safe houses, integrating highlights like decadent splashing tubs, precipitation showers, and traditional materials like stone and wood. Nonpartisan variety plans and delicate lighting add to a serene mood. • Creative Capacity Arrangements: Capacity arrangements are pivotal in keeping a spotless and coordinated space in the current washroom redesign. San Diego planners use sharp capacity choices, like secret cupboards, recessed retires, and wall-mounted vanities, to boost capacity without forfeiting style. • Energy-Proficient Installations: With supportability at the front of plan contemplations, energy-productive apparatuses have acquired unmistakable quality in present-day restroom rebuilding. San Diego mortgage holders pick low-stream latrines, water-saving fixtures, and Drove lighting to limit their ecological effects while decreasing utility expenses.

Current kitchen and bathroom remodeling San Diego gives property holders a variety of plan prospects that consistently mix structure and capability. The open idea format, moderate feel, shrewd apparatuses, and innovation characterize current kitchen plans, making spaces that encourage availability and refinement. In the meantime, contemporary washroom rebuilding centers around changing restrooms into spa-roused withdraws with extravagant highlights, imaginative capacity arrangements, and energy-proficient apparatuses. San Diego's building scene embraces these patterns, permitting mortgage holders to customize their spaces while improving the general worth and happiness regarding their homes. By embracing these cutting-edge plans, property holders in San Diego can set out on a rebuilding venture that lifts their kitchens and restrooms higher than ever in style and usefulness.

[faustopolancofurniture]

“Meet my new 2020 designs”

Over the past several weeks I completed the design of my exciting new collection

“ARTESANOS “ the Furniture is contemporary and chic with clean simple lines.

Live edge woods , organic textiles and hand woven bedding everything with eco friendly conscience and showing in a fantastic new escenary.

Fall in Love with it!

Best regards,

Fausto Polanco

Don't wait. Make an appointment today, via email: fpolanco@faustopolanco .com.mx or San Diego tel :

619 453 9455

for coronavirus safe private tours available.

CHECATE ...mis nuevos diseños!

Durante las últimas semanas completé el diseño de mi nueva colección de muebles.

"ARTESANOS" la colección de eco muebles es contemporánea y elegante con líneas simples y limpias.

Maderas recicladas, textiles de fibras organicos y bordados artesanales , todos hechos con materiales amigables a nuestro amigables a nuestro ambiente y las manos de los artesanos mexicanos.

Enamórate de ella !

Fausto Polanco.

CITAS

Vía e mail :

fpolanco@faustopolanco.com.mx

San Diego (619)453 9455

Rosarito (661)6122271

(661)6120125