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flowerandblood · 7 months ago

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Flowers and Thorns (1/2)

[ canon • Aemond x courtesan • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, smut, angst, working in the brothel, mention of murder, kind of trauma ]

[ description: Prince Aemond arrives unexpectedly on the Street of Silk, and she is chosen by Madame to soothe his stoic, stony nature and give him what he needs. ]

After a few seconds from the trailer that changed our lives, this short little series was created. No more thoughts.

Part 2 − Hopes and Prayers

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

"You've grown so much." She heard Madame's soft voice, looking curiously with several young girls at the figure of a man barely visible behind a red translucent curtain.

One of them is going to make a pretty penny that night, she thought with amusement. She glanced at her friend Lysa and noticed, seeing the mocking smile on her face, that she was thinking the same thing.

Madame was their guardian, if you could call it that, but unlike most of the owners of the taverns on The Street of Silk, she was concerned with quality, not quantity.

They, meaning her girls, were women of culture and elegance, not simple whores, and that was how they preferred to think of themselves, giving their flesh only in the process.

She blinked, hearing that Madame was answered by an uncomfortable silence, the newcomer's head turned to the side in impatience.

She thought the man was very tense and frustrated.

A common reaction to feeling embarrassed.

Madame knew what to do in such cases.

"Do you have any particular requests?" She asked softly, their heard the man hum quietly.

"Mmm. I will rely…on your taste." She heard a low, hoarse, slightly trembling voice that sent shivers through her.

Madame nodded and led him to one of the most expensive chambers. After a moment, she returned and approached them, sighing quietly, eyeing them one by one, as if she were pondering the choice of the right juicy fruit.

"The matter is very delicate. The King's younger brother is shy and withdrawn. His lack of an eye does not help him. Come, sweet girl." She purred, extending her hand to her, and she giggled, smiling broadly, thinking she had never seen anyone from the royal family in the flesh before.

Her friends slipped fresh field flowers into her hair and rubbed oils on her neck, as if they were preparing her for her wedding night − they put on her translucent purple robe, one of the most expensive they had, her dark hair partly pinned up in a bun at the back of her head.

She wondered with a fast-beating heart if the Prince resembled the King.

She had never had the opportunity to lie with King Aegon but from what she had heard, he had a taste in depravity that she was not a lover of.

Madame, however, would not have chosen her if it had been the same in this case, and as she trusted her judgement, she went to his chamber with a light heart.

As she closed the door behind her, she caught sight of his tall figure standing in front of the mirror − he turned towards her, frightened by her sudden presence, his face pale, his nostrils twitching rapidly in an anxious breath, his hands entwined on his back clenched into fists.

He was more than tense.

He was terrified.

Something was happening inside his head.

She bowed without a word, knowing that men of his kind did not like pretense.

She decided that she would not approach him until he commanded her to do so himself.

He swallowed hard, turning his face towards the bed, as if wondering what he was actually doing.

The most devoted to the Seven of all the Queen's children seeking comfort in the brothel.

She thought it was nothing to be ashamed of, but she knew that he did not crave her advice.

He thought for certain that she would approach him and coquet him, whispering about what she would do with him and how much she craved him, but she just moved ahead towards the other part of the room, watching him curiously. His gaze followed her.

"How old are you?" He asked reluctantly.

"Old enough, Your Grace. Madam doesn't hurt children." She replied meekly, bestowing him with a warm, comforting smile. His gaze softened − he hummed at her words and nodded.

Only after a moment did his gaze sweep over her entire figure, allowing himself to look at her. He swallowed hard again, his lips pressed together in a thin line as if he was impatient.

"May I undo your tunic, Your Grace? You'll be uncomfortable in it." She said, and he looked deeply into her eyes.

She thought he had an extremely intriguing face − he looked like a statue, his jaw long and sharply defined just like his nose, his mouth full, capable of caressing any woman wonderfully.

She felt a squeeze between her thighs at that thought.

His eye patch or what he wore under it didn't matter to her, but he didn't know that.

He nodded, lowering his gaze to the floor.

His thoughts were still fleeing somewhere far away.

She approached him slowly with a quiet rustling of her robe and didn't dare look at him as she reached her hands into the buckles of his tunic, slowly undoing them one by one.

She could smell his pleasant scent, the fact that he had taken a bath, his warm, quickened breath enveloping the top of her head.

He still kept his hands behind his back and didn't dare touch her.

She thought with a smile that she would use one of her fantasies, her being a lord's wife, using her skills during their wedding night to win his heart.

That night she didn't want to just be a whore.

It seemed to her that he didn't want that either.

He helped her by sliding the material off his shoulders, and she took it from him and placed it on the table standing next to them. She shuddered as his knuckles ran over her cheek, a wave of heat and desire surging through her spine and lower abdomen.

She looked up at him and met his dark, deep gaze, his full lips slightly parted.

"Your father sold you here?" He whispered, for some reason needing to get closer to her, to get to know her before what was about to happen.

She understood him and it occurred to her why Madame had chosen her.

She was able to take her time, to give the most shy of their clients the comfort and reassurance she herself so desperately needed.

"Doesn't every woman eventually get sold by her father to some man?" She asked, the corner of his mouth twitching in something that might resemble a smile, a glint in his eye.

"Mmm."

He felt it.

Some kind of twisted, helpless bond.

He kissed her, enclosing her face in his broad hands, rough from wielding the sword, surely. She gasped under her breath, feeling her nipples harden at the thought of how gentle this caress was − his lips, full, warm and wet, ran and brushed hers with the quiet click of their saliva.

She dared to place her small hand on his wrist and he sighed quietly, moving closer to her, deliberately shortening the distance between them − his body slammed into hers, his half-hard erection pulsed softly in his breeches.

She hugged him around the waist, allowing him to feel through the fabric of their garments the pleasing shape of her plump, sweet breasts − he drew in a loud breath feeling it, one of his hands traveled down her back, his fingers tentatively clamped on her buttock.

"− yes −" She whispered into his mouth, wanting him to know that she desired this, that she was not driven by pity or any other reason that might disgust him.

He murmured into her mouth at her words and moaned low when her tongue licked his, encouraging him to caress her more boldly. In response, he caught her under her hips and lifted her up − she giggled quietly, throwing her arms around his neck, a look of peace on his face, but also of pride, satisfaction and curiosity.

As he laid her down on the bed, he pulled the eye patch from his face as if it was her he was exposing, apparently expecting a reaction for which he might punish her, fuck her like a disobedient little whore − she, however, felt a squeeze between her thighs at the sight of the precious blue stone gleaming in his eye socket, her fingers ran over the line of his scar making him draw in air loudly.

With a quick, impatient gesture, he drew her hips closer to him, forcing her to spread her thighs before him. He reached into the material of his breeches, untying them, looking at her piercingly, his breathing quick and raspy.

"− show me your breasts −" He commanded, and she felt his words deep inside her. Immediately she slipped the material of her robe off her shoulders, his lips parted wider in desire at the sight of her little, puffy nipples.

"− fuck −" He breathed out, squeezing his long, throbbing erection in his hand, just looking at her.

She knew he didn't want her touching him, that if she threatened his privacy or comfort she would ruin everything.

"− do you want to feel it inside you? −" He gasped, and she nodded eagerly, looking at him expectantly, breathing loudly as he did, excited.

"− there you go − shhh − no, look at me −" He exhaled, guiding the fat head of his cock against her swollen slit, leaking from her wetness − her body resisted him for a moment, his eye closed as he opened her wide with her cry of exertion.

She looked at his face where droplets of sweat glistened, his lips swollen with desire, his long white hair tickling her face.

"− it's half way in − are you able to fit it whole? −" He muttered, as if asking her permission, and she nodded quickly, dreaming of nothing else now.

For some reason she wanted him to do this to her.

She tilted her head back seeing his grin of satisfaction, his hips impatiently thrusting deeper into her tight, fleshy interior, filling her to the brim.

"− I'm impressed − maybe I should visit you more often? − you seem shy for −" He exhaled but didn't finish, as if he decided it wasn't the best time to offend her, a loud sigh left their throats when he finally put it all the way in.

"− a woman of your kind −" He gasped.

"− I didn't choose this life −" She mumbled before she had time to think what had actually left her mouth. She saw his pupil dilate in surprise and she thought she had made a huge mistake.

His whole body froze, his cock pulsed greedily deep inside her.

"− nor I mine −"

She smiled at his words with some kind of gratitude, from which he swallowed hard. He surprised her when he leaned down and pressed his forehead against hers, their hands gripping their cheeks, his hot breath enveloping her skin.

"− I'm going to accelerate now −" He exhaled and she nodded, feeling a shrug at the thought of how much, though he certainly didn't think of it that way, he cared that she didn't push him away now, that she didn't look at him with disgust or resentment.

They both groaned as his thighs began to slam loudly against her buttocks, again and again pounding his already fully hard, thick erection into her, her hands clenched on his back, trying to find a rhythm with him, a wonderful shiver ran down her back each time he teased a wonderful spot deep inside her.

His body pressed her against the bed, which began to creak loudly beneath them, his breath heavy as her legs intertwined on his back, allowing him to thrust into her as deeply as he desired, his lips licking and brushing her mouth in the wettest, warmest, messiest kisses she'd ever experienced in her entire life.

"− ah −" He exhaled helplessly, feeling her little cunt begin to clench around his manhood in fulfilment and suck him inside, soaking him wet, intensifying his sensation, a sweet, innocent, girlish moan of delight ripped from her throat.

Their hands wandered blindly over their hot bodies, his fingers again and again returning to her breasts, finally clamping down on them when she felt he was close, their bodies all sticky from their shared moisture.

"− yes − yes, oh gods, yes −" He breathed out, clenching his eyes with an expression of some immense relief that surprised her − he drew in air deeply, as if he were choking, and then tear after tear began to run down his face hot with emotion, his eye clenched as he burst out suddenly into sobs, as if what flowed out of him was not just his seed.

"− I killed him − I killed him −" He whimpered, clenching his hands on either side of her head into fists, his hot tears one by one began to flow onto her cheeks. He covered his face with his hands, as if he didn't want her to look at it.

"− gods − gods, forgive me −"

She put her arms around his head and he let her pull him close, snuggling immediately into her body, his face pressed against her neck.

Never before in her life had she witnessed someone next to her burst into such helpless, almost childlike crying.

"− shhh − I know − I know it's scary −" She whispered, he drew in a deep breath as if he was suffocating.

"− if you tell anyone about this −" He hissed maliciously.

"− never −"

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wynnyfryd · 8 months ago

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Trailer park Steve AU part 59

part 1 | part 58 | ao3

cw: canon-typical horror/gore (like for real this time), emetophobia, reference to minor character death. ty to @thisapplepielife for indulging my weirdly specific research about headstones

Steve tries to follow her — gets shot down before he even gets within speaking range, Max shouting at him to give her a minute the second she spots him coming over the hill. He backs off, hands raised in surrender, and then…

Well, then he’s already out of the car.

Well then his feet know where to take him.

His dad’s grave isn’t far. Maybe a football field away, close enough that he’ll be able to hear it if Max calls for help. He moves toward it without thought, his legs carrying him past simple overgrown markers in the oldest part of the park — crumbling remnants of civil war soldiers, farmers and shopkeepers and factory workers, people who worked the mines, people who died before his grandfather was born. People who might have been loved once, before time and moss and water stripped their names off of the stones.

Up the next slope, the markers get more elaborate, shift from bronze to granite to marble, to monuments and mausoleums and a fucking obelisk; ostentatious displays of the town’s oldest money. The coal barons, the oil tycoons. Rotten bastards, Wayne might say.

The Harringtons aren't that rich. They're further down the hill in a neatly manicured row of Indiana limestone; fresh flowers on each grave, the weeds plucked, the grass trimmed.

Dad's buried right next to Grandpa Otis.

It almost looks nice.

Crisp, clean, dry. Nothing to suggest the messy wet red of his father's demise. Steve shoves his hands in his front pockets and steps up to his dad's plot, toes the edge of it, the rounded lump of earth, sparse grass and loose soil where his father's bones are laid. The ground gives a little under his weight, the dirt compacting. Could he dig this up with just his hands? Could he claw through until he reached the bottom, pry open the box and peer inside? Unbidden, the image forms in his mind: worm food and rot, half a man left inside, somehow still frowning in disappointment with his jaw bone shining clean.

Steve's stomach turns. A sick shiver runs through him, saliva flooding his mouth, sweat beading at his hair line.

This isn't right.

Something's not right.

There's a sudden chill in the air, frigid wind carrying a smell like roadkill in the summer — heat wafting from the pavement, death clogging up his throat. Steve covers his nose and wills his shoulders down from his ears; tries to mutter words of comfort to himself under his breath. “Just a graveyard, Steve. Just a totally… normal…”

Ice on the back of his neck. Steve tenses every muscle, turns his good ear toward the sound of whatever's creeping up on him; something taller than him, something slithering and wet, its rasping rattles of frozen breath sending goosebumps down Steve's arms. His hands twitch inside his pockets.

Then, a voice — a voice that isn’t his, that can’t be anyone’s, because the man it belonged to is dead. “That Munson boy was right about you."

Steve can't fucking breathe. Dark clouds roll in around him, violent as a blooming bruise, and that voice behind him echoes — distorted, vicious; hungry.

"You are a black hole."

Steve grabs two fistfuls of his own hair and tugs; wills the pain to dispel the nightmare, his eyes swimming from the sting.

The thing behind him laughs. "Look how you ruined your mother," it snarls. "Look how you tore her apart.”

"Shut up!" Steve barks with his hands over his ears.

“Steve…” The voice deepens, beckons, thick with malice and rot. Steve slowly turns to face it, trembling all over, pulse thudding in his ears, and his shoes squelch in the dirt, and when he looks down he sees that the dirt has turned to mud that now turns to oozing red, a viscous river beneath his feet, flowing up over his ankles, pouring from his father's grave. And there, in front of him, a mangled remnant stands. The ruined corpse of Richard Harrington, his skin shriveled and gray, the torn parts of him held together by his clothes. There’s a hole in his torso where the exposed ribs glint like knives.

Steve throws up on himself.

The ground gives way beneath him, goes spongy like rotting meat, and the thing wearing his dad's face cackles as Steve sinks into the earth, the grave swallowing him whole, up to his calves, his knees, his thighs. "Join me," it offers, lipless smile full of teeth.

The glamor peels back to reveal a monster underneath, its scarred skin crawling in mucus-coated vines; naked, long-limbed, stitched together with burnt flesh.

Steve screams as he scrambles for purchase, up to his hips now in the muck, his feet on the lid of his dad's casket. He claws blindly at the loose ground but it’s all thick and wet with red, and the air itself is red; blood in the sky, in his eyes, in his lungs. He's going to die here. The voice tells him so. It's in his head now, a bellowing echo as the monster draws near, one hideous hand outstretched, an all-consuming join me, join me, JOIN ME—

“HEY!!!”

Max shouts directly in his face, shaking him hard by both shoulders where they're crouched on the cool ground, Kate Bush leaking from the headphones slung around her neck. Steve gives a startled shout and jerks back out of her grip, falling hard on his ass, landing harder on his elbows.

The world shifts back to blue. To dry, clean grass. To breathable air.

Steve pants up at the sky. His shirt clings to him where he's soaked it through with sweat. When Max offers him a hand, he stands on shaky legs, looks at the ground beneath his feet and screams again, scurrying back until his ass hits a stranger's headstone.

There’s a dent in the earth where he was standing. A smudge of packed dirt where he really did sink in. Steve stares at it; feels it reaching out for him, the dark patch thudding like a heart beat, spreading out like snaking vines.

He clutches at his heaving chest. Max’s eyes are huge on him.

"Okay, what the fuck?" she begs.

"What the fuck yourself!"

No heat behind the words, but they burn him, anyway, pushed out on a weak gasp. Is this what she was talking about? Is this what she calls nothing?

This doesn't feel like fucking nothing.

“Shit," she says, and her eyes go even wider. Steve can see the veins in them. "Shit, Steve, your nose…”

He swipes his arm across his face.

It comes back red.

—

part 60

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

#trailer park steve au #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #max mayfield #vecna

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marveltrumpshate · 2 months ago

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Want to participate in Marvel Trumps Hate, but don't know what to offer? Think outside the box!

Stumped on what to offer because you don't write fic or draw? Marvel Trumps Hate welcomes a huge variety of fanworks and fan labor (see our sign-up post), so there are different ways you can contribute. You'll be amazed by the breadth of skills, talents, knowledge, and types of creative expression found in fandom!

Here's a smorgasbord of offers that we've either had before or seen people discuss as possibilities for MTH 2024 or future years to help inspire you. What you can offer is not restricted to the list below; these are just examples to get you brainstorming about what you can auction off because trust us, even if you think you might not have something to offer, you probably do!

ART (VISUAL/ILLUSTRATIVE)

Drawings/illustrations

Single-page and multi-page comics

Pixel art

Paintings (oil, acrylic, gouache, watercolor)

Mixed-media artwork on canvas

Ink-on-bristol art

Embroidery on canvas

Pour paint/spin art

Rotoscopes

Digital coloring books

AUDIOVISUAL WORKS

Fan music or filk inspired by characters, ships, or fics

Podfics

Videos (fic trailers, themed edits, vids set to songs)

Animations (making original art/animation or turning existing art into animation)

BETA SERVICES

Editing

Cheer reading

Soundboarding/planning/development work

Fact-checking

Culture-picking

Sensitivity reading

Knowledge about specific topics or experiences (e.g., identities, lifestyles, professions, interests, fields of study)

Research

CRAFTS & MERCH

Candles

Lip balms

Soaps

Stained glass/suncatcher

Scented beanbag-style sachets

Candy/chocolate/baked goods/jellies/sweets

Fic/character/ship/theme boxes (like book boxes)

Pins, magnets, patches, charms, standees, key chains, ring holders, calendars, stickers, bookmarks, temporary tattoos

Sculptures and clay figures

Ceramic mugs and other ceramic items

Apparel/wearable accessories (shirts, jackets, scarves, gloves/mittens, hats, face masks, regular masks, cowls, pajamas/onesies)

Backpacks, tote bags, itabags with custom window shapes, leather dice bags, wallets, pouches/pencil cases

Plushie animal or Tsum Tsum versions of Marvel characters

Dolls (crochet, needle felt, matte board, hand-sewn)

Embroidery hoops/wall art and cross stitch pieces

Jewelry (diamond painting, macrame, metal, crochet, wire, beads)

Woodwork/wood burning (cheese board, box/chest, USB stick, coasters, photo frame, alphabet blocks)

Glasswork

Custom Funko Pops

Paper cut light boxes

Pillow cases, quilted pillows, baby blankets, dishcloth/washcloths, potholders

Handmade leather journals

Linoleum stamps

Dog/cat/pet toys

Artbooks, paper doll books, and coloring books

Hand-dyed yarn skeins

Custom tea blends

DIGITAL (GRAPHIC DESIGN)

Gifsets

Graphics/edits

Mood boards

Photo manips

Fic covers/posters/banners

Icons and headers

Webweaving

Tumblr or website layouts

Digital calendars

Wallpapers

Custom Discord emojis

FAN LABOR & TRANSLATION

Typesetting

Bookbinding

Recipes based on characters, ships, or themes

Names, tags, and summaries for fics

Audio/sound editing and/or soundscaping for podfics

Book cover design and printing

Art/comic/fic translation

Website/game/AO3 skin coding

Fic rec lists

Fic playlists/fanmixes

Knitting/crochet patterns

Art coaching

Help with launching and organizing fan events

WRITING

Fic

Poetry

Meta posts

Social media AUs

Physical letters written by characters to the reader or between two characters

Remixes of your fic or an existing fic with the author's permission

Whether you can do something on this list or something else altogether (we're sure there are a lot of other things that you can do that we haven't thought about or seen before), we hope you'll consider signing up before the deadline: September 28, 11:59 PM ET.

#marvel trumps hate #mth 2024 #announcement

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urcursebreaker · 1 year ago

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burning body waiting. (ellie williams x fem!reader)

warnings for this chapter: 18+ content, graphic violence/gore/blood and animal death.

chapter 1: blood-soaked beauty

ᖭི༏ᖫྀ

The floorboard creaks under your featherlight footing. You drag yourself to a fluid halt, cautiously analyzing the drab sunroom.

The crooked, off-kilter shelf; a ratty, blood-crusted sheet draped over it. A murky puddle of rain water reflecting the forlorn, dim winter sun, plumes of old motor oil dancing in an iridescent swirl. A lopsided, rusty tricycle. A pile of chipped cement bricks.

Nothing of use; and no one to hear your misstep.

You exhale shakily, resuming your calculated strides. You shuck the grimy, makeshift curtain away from the shelf, deftly pocketing a stray razor blade and half-used roll of duct tape.

After surveying the room and gathering what you need, you shove through the dry-rotted back door, the frigid breeze cascading through your unbound hair.

"Shit," your teeth clatter over the curse; the cold, penetrative rain aiming spears of ice straight through your bones.

You tighten the soiled fur-lined coat you had stolen from your brother around your frame, adjusting the shotgun slung over your shoulder. The rain soaks through the corduroy and saps your hair to your face.

You shield your eyes from the ferocious patter of rain and give the collapsing back porch a brisk once over, before making a run for the darkening tree line.

Mel had informed you of a vacant trailer park they'd encountered on their last sweep, just through the thick of the dense forestry. They'd killed the lingering infected on their way through, a few runners feeding on the steaming carcass of a horse.

She assured you there were no live cordyceps in the area, so they'd deemed it safe enough for you to loot it alone, as long as you returned to base before night descended and followed the precautions they established after Nora's death.

This was the final step of your initiation into the WLF; endure a loot run, alone, and with minimal supplies. Then you were officially one of them.

You and your brother had arrived in Seattle a month and a half ago, where you were grudgingly taken in by the Wolves after incidentally stumbling into one of their self-made traps.

After confirming you weren't a Seraphite, they'd permitted you shelter in exchange for your faithful camaraderie and proof of your usefulness. Which, even after all this time, you were still laboriously proving. You had to double your efforts to solidify your value in order to compensate for your brother.

He had his own beneficial qualities, but his blindness limited him to organizing and rationing stock, refurbishing broken supplies, and cleaning everyone's weaponry. Nobody wanted to risk sending him on a mission when there was a highly probable chance he wouldn't make it back.

So you had to act as two people when exploring the outside world.

The canopy of leaves give you decent coverage from the relentless rain as you move swiftly through the heavy greenery. The sun would set in precisely two hours, granting you sparsely half an hour to get to and search the sight.

The thought itself sends you into greater motion. You break into a sprint, hopping over fallen, mold-shrouded logs and winding around the towering, western pines, until the rain mutes to a dull sprinkle.

The trees eventually open up to unveil an expansive clearing. About a dozen overgrown, warped mobile homes dot the field, shadowed by swaying tall grass and curling canary.

You stop idly to catch your breath and do a cautionary visual sweep of your surroundings. It's all nearly peaceful; the distant span of rolling mountains. Silence, but the water dripping gently off the leaves, the bristle of the dew speckled grass. Wet vines billowing with the wind.

You rummage through the first few without difficulty; they were filthy and crumbling, but free of any infected or evidence of death. The trailer park was likely abandoned in the wake of the outbreak.

You collect an impressive variety of canned foods; beans, corn and even a dented can of mandarin oranges, alongside a few rolls of toilet paper and a box of unopened bandaids. You even found a collapsed bookshelf and salvaged a few books, snagging one for yourself to indulge in during your watch shift. You only allow yourself the selfish luxury as a celebration for you upcoming place among the WLF, once you return with the goods.

You begin to search the fourth to last trailer, this one partially seeping into the sunken, mossy earth and caving at the roof. Half of it was obstructed by the collapsed ceiling, but in the reachable area you find a toolbox under the sink, dump the miscellaneous screws and bolts into your backpack, and hook the baby hammer you find to the belt loop of your worn, bootcut Levi's.

You slip out of the trailer once you gather the necessities. A mockingbird chirps, it's tweet eerily reminiscent of a human whistle, it's wings beating overhead as it soars across the field and into the encompassing trees. You wipe your dusty, damp palms on your pants uncomfortably, glancing around before regaining your footing and making your way toward the neighboring trailer.

You're vigilant as you scan the interior, the birds song unsettling you deeply. It rung as if it were warning you; as if it were fleeing. You make sure to take the apple-cutting knife you spot on the counter.

You were sidling out of the derailed door when you heard it, plainly and resolutely; a sharp whistle from your left.

You freeze. Your hand subconsciously jerking to your holster.

Silence.

The pines creak. The grass wisps faintly.

Another whistle, this one long, melodic, and from your right; closer.

You duck into the brush, your heart hammering wildly against your chest. You withdraw your gun, fishing the stray bullets out of your pocket, loading it with trembling fingers.

The grass rustles forcefully from both sides, followed by a series of coded whistles, all nearing by the second. Your breaths heave from your lips in panicked spurts, as you crawl under the latticed underbelly of the trailer, mud plastering to your elbows, your brothers coat.

Seraphites. Fucking Seraphites.

You'd rather it be a herd of infected.

Especially when you hear a dog's frantic, frothing string of furious barks.

"She was just over here. She can't be far," a male voice boom's authoritatively, too close for comfort. "She's close."

The mud must be deflecting the dogs of your scent, as you can make out their nearby blood-thirsty sniffing. You quietly lather it on your face, smearing it all over your exposed skin, suppressing your labored breathing.

Two Seraphites enter the trailer you're tucked beneath. The floor screeches precariously under their footing, inching closer to where you lay. You shimmy toward the small gap on the opposing side of the crawlspace, accidentally slicing your cheek on a stranded, dangling pipe in your attempt to avoid them.

You grimace, stifling the whimper rising in your throat, the split searing your cheek, hot blood leaking down your face.

It's only a few seconds later when the previously sedated, off-course dogs begin to bark ravenously, harmonizing as they bound for you in a frenzy.

They must've smelled the blood.

You curse openly now, clambering for the small opening, shredding it open with your adrenaline-piqued strength, stumbling to your feet and dashing down the hill.

"There she is!" Someone hollers, followed by a stampede of Seraphites hurdling behind you, gunshots renting the evening air.

Bullets whistle by in whirs as you stagger zig-zaggedly away from them, the dogs barking intensifying as they speed through the slick grass.

"Fuck," you seethe, tearing through the terrain, toppling down the hill, nearly losing your balance. You manage to shoot over your shoulder without falling, clipping a Seraphite on her waist, sending her plummeting to the ground.

More resounding gunshots. Exchanged shouts. One of the dog emits a loud, wounded whimper.

You run far and fast enough that you lose the dogs for a couple of minutes. You press yourself against a wide berthed tree and breathe raggedly, painfully, rubbing a heap of mud onto your gash, blanketing the blood in it.

You barely have time to catch your breath when a twig snaps to your left.

And you barely have time to react before a body is pummeling into you, knocking you to the rain-sullen floor, eliciting a grunt out of you.

You blindly wrestle the man off of you, stabbing him directly in the gut with the knife you'd thieved. He gets a powerful punch in despite the wound you'd inflicted, your head reeling back, slamming into rock.

The world spins around you, blood coats your tongue, but you stab him again, twisting it up and penetrating an organ, a guttural scream tearing through his throat. It weakens him enough that you manage to shove his body weight off of you, and he rolls onto the wet moss with a thud.

He reaches weakly for your ankle, and you flip the knife, bringing it down on his skull with a deafening, sickening crunch, as it spears through scalp and drills through bone.

You don't bother beholding the gruesome scene or dislodging your new weapon from his head; you turn away from the act you'd committed and hobble away, vision distorted and mind fogged from the impact of his attack.

You slip the fully loaded shotgun off your shoulder and cock it, creeping back toward where you had fled. If you didn't kill them all now, they'd track you back to the base.

There were five that chased and fired at you; two of which were accompanied by a hellhound. One of the dogs was seemingly injured in the crossfire, leaving one dog, and four Seraphites, if you exclude the woman you'd momentarily impaired. The man you killed must've been stationed in the woods, meaning there had to be more located somewhere.

You do all the calculations mentally, your shoulders strung high in alert, eyes feverishly darting around, assessing the vicinity. The sun was setting, darkness eclipsing the trees.

Another cycle of distant gunshots ricochet through the forest, from where you had run. No dogs barked. Everything around you remained unmoving. Your fear had taken you far.

Eventually, you arrive back to the yawning field. The trailers were pierced with steaming bullet holes, blood spattering the rusted metallic sidings. Three Seraphites stand back to back in the opening, including the pixie-cutted woman you'd shot, muttering apprehensively amongst themselves.

You crouch behind a bush, aiming at the cluster of people. One of the dogs lay unmoving and rigid, face-up in the grass, a puddle of blood accumulating around its body. Your brow pinches in bewilderment as you notice a Seraphite girl sprawled lifelessly beside it.

And another one, by the feet of one of the living soldiers, his gun clutched tautly to his chest. He flickers his gaze around dubiously, frightfully, mimicking yours and the others confusion.

You take advantage of their preoccupation with their uncounted for enemy and lock in on the befuddled man, zeroing in on his head. You steady your hold, let it linger on him, before pulling the trigger.

It blasts through him, brains and blood exploding through the air, birds flocking from the trees with high-pitched guffaws. You'd already vacated your spot when the other two began listlessly shooting in that direction.

You seek new lodging behind an abandoned CRV, studying them from a new angle. You zone in on one of the women, finger hovering over the trigger, when two gunshots erupt. Seamlessly killing each of them.

You hesitate for a brief second, before deigning to head back the way you had come, not wanting to cross paths with the dangerous, exceptional force that had swept in and took each of them down one by one.

The past gunshots ring perilously, hazily in your ears. You lethargically flick the drying mud off of your face, trudging through the forest, still wary of any potential threat, as the person who'd been capable of single-handedly decimating that entire group of Seraphites was still wandering through these woods somewhere with the knowledge you were alive.

You're nearing the old farmhouse you were scavenging earlier when a soft, hesitant, questioning whistle sends you halting in place. You tuck yourself behind a tree, scouting for the source of the noise. They repeat the whistle, more insistently.

You shift to step out from behind the tree when a calloused hand clasps over your mouth, steering you into a lithe, toned body. You struggle against the firm, strapping grasp, hot breath fanning your ear.

"Quiet." A soft, raspy female voice murmurs lowly. Arm secured around your waist, anchoring you to her blood-soaked front. Her words tickle your cheek as she whispers, "We're not alone."

You reluctantly concede, only lightly squirming in her oppressive hold. Fearing that if you refuse to comply, she'll aim her wrath at you next. Loathing that she can feel the trepidation emanating through you, the rapid thundering of your heart against her arm.

Boots rifle through the damp leaves, the hushed footing sloshing through mud. Your wheezy breathing escalates as your unknown captor leisurely maneuvers around the tree, grasp on you unyielding as she expertly avoids the prying Seraphite.

"Shh. Easy now." The woman mutters with lethal, calm calculation. The soft, fatal edge filtering her tone sending an unexpected, quavering shudder through your icy body.

You nod stiffly under her sweaty palm, and she marginally appeases her bone-crushing grip on you. She slowly, deliberately removes her hand from your mouth, absentmindedly dragging it down your chin, her rough fingers ghosting your jaw.

You anxiously glance down to find your heels on top of her scuffed boots and stumble off of her in alarm. Her hand catches your waist, grave-cold digits inching up your jacket, clawing at bare skin, as she yanks you back behind the tree.

You make to glance at her in a conjunction of gratitude and terror, but she had dissipated seamlessly, whirring by like a vengeful phantom in the night as she stations herself behind an adjacent tree, back plastered to the moss-cushioned, sappy trunk. Elaborately designed switchblade in hand.

She eyes her target, deadpan, excluding the twitch of her bruised under eye. She presses a trembling finger to her chapped lips, slicing a cautionary glare at you.

You sardonically hold your breath, emphatically puffing your cheeks, and you swear you discern an amused lilt to her lips. Or perhaps it was just the waning, dimming sun light, glazing over her slim figure, quelling dancing shadows across her battered face.

Whatever it was vacuumed out of her face, overcome by a grim, stoic solidity, when the Seraphite inched hesitantly in her direction. She creeps around the base of the tree as he rounds it, leisurely prowling up to him.

It happens briskly, lightening-quick— you blink and she was fisting his unruly hair and hauling him back, baring his throat to her— which she drills through efficiently and relentlessly, blood spraying in jagged spurts, sprinkling her wrath-warped face.

Another whistle cuts distantly through the humid air.

She's already slipping through the night-shrouded greenery before he even falls, his gurgled, floundering whimpers following him down as he thuds to the ground, blood still sputtering out of him, large frame twitching.

She disappears through the vast darkness of impending nightfall, her bloodied knife glinting faintly, distantly in the minute moonlight, as she takes determined strides toward the source of the second whistle.

Horror clutches your heart and squeezes unabashedly as you linger, the man's lifeless body still pulsating with the remnants of life it harbored.

You cast a suspecting glance around, the brush tranquilly silent, death idling in the dampened air.

And then you throttle back the way you were originally headed, wanting to put as much space between you and the ominous woman as tangibly possible, in case she returned, regretting keeping you alive.

You don't make it very far.

An arrow soars through the air and strikes the back of your thigh, puncturing flesh, narrowly missing the bone. Searing, white-hot pain bursts through your body as you slam to the ground with a sharp cry— your scream ricocheting through the trees.

You clamber for purchase, using your arms to crawl through the dense mud, dragging your injured leg dejectedly. The pain scathing, shooting up your body in fissures of agony, as you seethe through your teeth, the full arrow protruding from your skin.

You hear the whistle of a second arrow and duck. It spears through the earth inches from your head. You speed up, using your unwounded knee to push you forward, colorful dots edging your vision.

Twigs snap all around; muffled shouts resounding through the forest, an electric current of danger thrumming through your numbing body, as you drag yourself weakly, futilely.

You halt under a curling, dripping fern, fumbling for the arrow gauging your thigh. You take a few deep, alleviating breaths, before ripping it from your leg, stifling a scream at the scathing pain. Crimson saturates your pants, blooming in a dark pool.

Seraphites are storming by urgently, mud flicking off their boots. You remain unnoticed by a quad of them that hurdle by.

For a couple minutes it's silent. You don't move, afraid that if you shift even slightly, you won't be able to suppress the noise that would leave you at the blistering, twinging agony.

You think you're remotely safe, shielded from searching eyes, superficial wound already sealing.

That is before your head is unexpectedly cracked against something colossal, and your wisked away into a world of unfathomable darkness.

ᖭི༏ᖫྀ

Drip.

Your finger twitches, pulse thumping in the pads.

Drip.

Your heartbeat thunders through your skull, the drumming nearly muffling the faint noise. Your face spasms; the mobility slowly begins creeping in, though your mind has been reduced to a vacant chamber of incoherence.

Drip.

The hairs on the back of your neck stiffen. A keen awareness begins to slither back into your numbed body; you're not alone. Your mind may be buzzing, it's cognition still restoring by the second, but your body tingles under watchful eyes. You remain frozen.

Until a boisterous crackle sends you lunging up, triggering a sharp intake of breath. You gasp for air, shaking violently, your vision still murky from earlier's collision.

Through your fragmented sight and a stream of dense smoke, you decipher a red figure. They hover just across from you, the small, roaring fire the only barrier dividing you from the eerily, predatorily still stranger.

You blink rapidly, disorient. "Who are you?" you bleat, voice hoarse with misuse. You attempt to lift your hands as a last resort of protection, to find them bound in front of you. You wriggle them senselessly, panic bubbling in your chest, the thick, tethered rope rubbing your skin raw.

The figure's head tilts inquisitively. "Who are you." A husky, feminine voice drawls.

That voice...

You gulp, saliva syrupy like molasses. It's the girl; you knew from the way her voice alone sent a bolt of hot, electrifying shivers up your spine. "You," you breathe softly, licking your teeth, the taste of your own blood relinquishing on your tongue. "You're the girl. You helped me."

The figure straightens, rigid, arm dangling off her thigh as she crouches before the fire. Though you can't directly see her eyes through the haze, you can feel her gaze penetrating through you, prying you apart piece by piece.

She's silent for a moment, before picking up a stick and delicately prodding the flames, the smoke lightly defusing, the embers flickering. "I was going to kill them all anyway." She informs blithely, shrugging with one bandaged shoulder.

You could see her clearer than before, now; she was doused head to toe in crimson. Blood billowed down her sharp face, dripping to the floor in slow but ferocious spatters. The blood accentuated the verdant-blue of her crystalline eyes, dull and piercing yours. "I could tell you weren't one of them. And I don't kill just for the fuck's of it."

You sit in uneasy silence, studying her outline apprehensively. She withdraws her switchblade from her pocket and continues, "Which raises the question; if you aren't one of them, who are you?" She asks conspicuously, as if to herself, as she begins sharpening the blade.

You hesitate, your mouth dry as you reluctantly offer her your name. You know better than to share anything beyond that; the WLF had everyone under lockdown. Abby believes Nora's murder was a targeted, vengeful attack, and had warned all of you not to disclose your ties, in case you stumble upon someone who knows the killer.

"Do you move alone?" The woman interrogated unabashedly, peering down at the knife as she ran a dirty rag across its shiny surface.

"No," you admit, swallowing harshly, shaking your head. "It's me and my brother. He's blind, so I go out and get supplies, he protects our stuff."

Half truths are the most believable lies.

"Where did you two come from?"

"Ohio," you respond baldly. "We left with our family, but. It's just us now."

She pauses to assess you for a moment. "I lost someone too." She mutters, haunt dwindling in her eyes.

It's your turn to analyze her. Even caked in grime and unapologetically coated in her victims blood, she was beautiful. Her mussed auburn hair was partially tied back out of her angular face, her features neatly carved like a statues, emphatic and naturally alluring. Her eyes were a brewery, swirling with color and indistinguishable emotion, framed by expressive eyebrows, one of them slitted.

Maybe it's wrong to look at her— the woman who'd shamelessly, brutally wiped out dozens of people before your eyes— and notice these things.

But you've always been an optimist.

You can tell by the wariness glinting in her eyes that she doesn't share that sentiment.

"I'm sorry to hear that," you whisper sincerely, sorrowfully, gulping down the lump of emotion cementing in your throat.

She glances away, her jaw clenching. A muscle spasms in her blood-spattered neck. "Yeah," she whispers tightly, the word emitting from her lips in an unintentional seethe. "Yeah, I'm sorry too."

There's an awkward duration of silence.

"So..." you snort, and she startles at the noise, glancing up at you in bewilderment. Her swampy blue gaze roving over your slick face. "Can you maybe untie me now?" You lift your bound wrists in emphasis, arching a brow, trying to appear undeterred by her astute stare.

Her eyes brighten vaguely. "Why? You don't like it?" She teases monotonously, a frail smirk tugging at her cracked lips. Your cheeks tingle with warmth at the insinuation, and you shift, coyly angling your face away from the blood-soaked beauty.

"Not when it's against my will, no," you respond, half-quipping.

"But when it's not?" She raises a challenging brow, that sort-of smirk still pulling at her lips.

Against your better judgement, a conclave of butterflies erupt in your stomach, fluttering around. It's evident that she's just joking, which, in contrast to her rumpled, grizzly appearance, is funny in itself. The fear you felt around her from before seems to have dissipated and been replaced by a morbid curiosity.

"Untie me and try again. We'll find out."

"Huh," she coughs out a sheepish laugh, sliding her thumb across her lip, ridding the blood that had dripped there. She's silent for a moment, before pointedly clearing her throat. "That wound was pretty gnarly." Her voice comes out in a ragged breath.

You smile to yourself at her sudden timidity, glancing down at your thigh. Crimson blossomed through the bandage enveloping your wound— she must've dressed it herself, when you were unconscious. Which means she must've also...

"Did you carry me here?" You question in disbelief. She must be insurmountably strong if she was able to move your dead weight...

"Yeah," she clears her throat again, eyes uncertainly darting between you and her blemished green backpack. She grazes a finger over a tiny spaceship pin clipped to the front contemplatively. "It wasn't very far from where you dropped."

"Ah," you chirp airily, nodding slowly, watching her unzip the front pouch and unveil a sack of cashews. "Well... thanks."

She hums noncommittally, tossing the sack of nuts to you. You eye her warily, awaiting her curt nod of confirmation, before ripping it open and gratefully popping a couple in your mouth. She watches you eat mutely, blankly.

A gentle stream of dewy morning sunlight begins to beam through the torn netting of the rusted window, softly illuminating your previously shadowed surroundings. It's the garage of the farmhouse you were looting before.

The loot.

Your chewing slows, and you cast your gaze around frantically in search of your bag. And your guns. They're no where to be found.

"I left all your stuff there," the girl states knowingly, shrugging at the look of pure panic on your face. "It was too heavy for me to carry both you and you're stuff. We'll go back for it once the sun rises."

The implication she'd be accompanying you made a part of you uneasy; but on the other hand, you were thankful you wouldn't have to relocate your things all alone.

"Okay..." you reply dubiously, flexing your bound wrists, the muscles beginning to ache. "When am I getting these off? It's not like I can hurt you. I'm unarmed."

She shoves off the concrete and to her feet with a soft grunt, absentmindedly rubbing her side, wincing at her own touch. She shoulders her bag, smiling down at you wolfishly. The orange glare of the dimming fire reflects off her blood-stained face. "Not yet."

ᖭི༏ᖫྀ

You examine your reflection in the rippling water. A cracking layer of mud mutates your face, greases your hair. You cup a handful of oil-contaminated water and splash it into your face, rubbing vigorously, the now wet rope heavy against your wrists.

Sunlight gleams through the overhead awning of leaves, ricocheting off the water. The morning birds chime in benign song; the rest of the encompassing world silent, save for the gurgling of the stream. Fog creeps in from the distant forestry; dew speckles the frost-tipped grass.

You pat the dampness from your eyes with your sleeve and glance at the woman. She's half-submerged in the pond, plumes of blood roiling off of her, tainting the water a murky crimson. She scrubs her blood-crusted arms vehemently, grimacing, pointedly disregarding you.

You waltz over to the large, upturned rock where she'd draped her coat, moving slowly and methodically as to not disengage her from her trance. You toss your coat down beside it and unlace your boots, setting them aside, eyes trained on her carefully, still afraid that one wrong move could send her lurching.

On the trek here, she'd been passive and silent, her face ghoulish and tense. It was as if with the rise of dawn came the fall of her peace; there was tension in her jaw, and determination in her strides. Though she'd been the one to suggest accompanying you, she seemed suddenly inconvenienced by it, like she was in a haste to finally be rid of you.

Which, gladly. You didn't want to be tied up and leashed around any more than she wanted you trailing her and nosing her plans.

She may have helped you, nursed you back to health, but you didn't forget what she was capable of; the mass destruction at her singular hands.

You wanted to remain on her good side, or whatever side emboldened her to save you, for as long as you could; at least until you were released from her clutches.

You peel off your socks and keep the rest of your clothes on— a soiled green camisole and blood-stained Levi's— and hesitantly breach the shore of the cold water, creeping toward her unsurely. You gasp quietly when the icy water rises to your midriff, raising your goose-pimpled arms over the surface, teeth clattering.

"How are you not freezing!?" You yelp as you dive into a breaststroke, swimming past her, shivers wracking your body. You spin around and float on your back, exhaling obnoxiously. It's hard to move without using your arms, but you manage to keep yourself afloat with just your legs.

She glances at you furtively, her eyes flickering between your face and your chest, before chagrinly dropping back to her arm. "It's not bad," she mumbles mundanely, her skin raw and blistering from her violent scrubbing.

You notice a bold tattoo curling over the length of her forearm. Curiously, you inch nearer to her, taking in the ink. It's a detailed moth atop

a long, winding fern.

"Cool tat," you chirp, absentmindedly extending a finger and lightly caressing the thick line of ink. She stiffens but doesn't recoil, her lowered eyes meeting yours uncertainly.

"Thanks," she says gruffly, simply, retracting her hand, eyeing you for a prolonged second before returning to her scrubbing. This time she soaks a cloth she must've cut from her shirt. She half-heartedly sweeps her hair off her neck and runs it down her back, blood beading off in loud droplets.

You take a step back and fully duck yourself into the water; despite its nearly debilitating chill, it was refreshing— the mud and blood flaking off and floating in particles around you. You aggressively massage the water into your hair, digging out the caked-up grime to the best of your ability with your bound wrists partially disabling you.

You break the surface with a gentle gasp for air and find the woman staring at you. Except this time, instead of sheepishly breaking your gaze, her stare remains resolute. Her eyes leisurely rove over your face, where water drips languidly from your lashes and scars brand your skin, and down your chest, where your nipples are peaked from the cold.

You feel them harden further at her gaze, as it seems to indulgently trace the shape of them. You swear you detect a hitch in her otherwise steady breathing before her eyes wander, slowly, back up to your face, darkening when they meet yours.

She doesn't say anything, her now mainly bloodless face masterfully blank. You tentatively take a couple steps closer, the ground rough and littered beneath your feet, until she's practically peering down at you. Freckles form a vast constellation on her cheeks and nose, a light smattering dusting her face. A nearly microscopic scar mars her lip.

"You never told me your name," you say pointedly, raising a brow, projecting an illusion of confidence. Her eyes dart to the roguish smile splaying on your lips, and you lick them subconsciously, the rancid tang of dirty water dissolving on your tongue. "You know mine. Doesn't seem fair."

She contemplates you for a second, craning her chin up, donning a faint smirk of her own. "Ellie."

You sink deeper into the water, shielding the entire upper half of your body, peaking up at her. "Well, Ellie," you taste her name on your tongue, drawling it out deliberately, precisely, as you attempt to swim backwards. "It's not very easy to swim with no hands."

"Then stop swimming." She states matter-of-factly, and you roll your eyes, gliding towards the shore nonetheless.

But on the way up, your knee grazes something sharp, and you hiss a curse, wincing internally. You dip your fingers into the water and fumble for the object, forcefully yanking it out of the mud where it's lodged.

It's a thick shard of glass.

You glance over your shoulder at Ellie, blissfully unaware and dragging the cloth down her reddened face, before pocketing it covertly and marching up the shore.

You linger for a moment, water dripping out of your hair and off your seeping body, before wringing out as much as you could and calling, "Gonna go piss, be right back!"

Ellie doesn't respond. You take that as your cue to go, hurrying through the dense tree line and crouching behind a hefty bush. You strain your neck to peak at her through the branches, assuring yourself she's still preoccupied, before pulling out the shard and sawing into the rope.

You saw and saw and saw, slowly but surely cutting through the rope, its grip loosening by the second.

A twig snaps behind you.

You swivel around swiftly, freezing in horror as Ellie stares down at you, her switchblade unsheathed. You hadn't heard her wading through the water; she'd moved silently and stealthily.

Her face is blank, that expertly devoid expression she'd tailored when hunting down those Seraphites plastered on.

She reers the knife back, the only sign of life the twitch of her upper lip. You close your eyes and brace for the impact; this was it. You should've played the long game, gained her trust, earned your freedom. Now she was going to slaughter you like the rest.

You flinch at the grunt that tears through her lips as she brings the blade down.

Only instead of agony, blade breaking flesh, your hands snap to the ground, free of unbearable tension.

You fearfully squint down at your wrists; the rope now split in half, cuffing your wrists but no longer knotted before you. You stretch them apart, rolling your shoulders, looking up at her with pure, undiluted trepidation, gulping.

She meets your gaze unapologetically and throws your coat down at you. "Let's go," she says dispassionately, cooly, already turning away and marching up the hill. "Your stuff isn't far."

. . .

#ellie williams #the last of us #ellie tlou #joel miller #playstation #ps4 #the last of us 2 #tlou #tlou2 #ellie williams fanfic #ellie x reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie the last of us #ellie x fem reader #ellie x y/n #joel and ellie #abby anderson #burningbodywaiting

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darkpuppysuit · 1 month ago

Text

🎀Tie up the ends of a Dream🎀

Pairing: CountryBoy!KimTaehyungxCurvy!Reader

Warnings: Domestic Abuse, cursing, smoking, fighting (verbal and physical) Mature themes, MDNI.

Words: 5.2k

A/N: I'm giving minor characters names. I'm sorry if you don't like that but it makes my brain do the burr if I don't. Also I hope you guys really like this because it's been stuck in my head all damn day lol. I'll probably write a part two for this considering where I left off....

Taehyung is a young man living in a trailer on a half acre of land the little old lady at the farm next door let him occupy for free until he got on his feet when she saw him in an alleyway practically begging on the streets.

He was small and skinny at the time, no meat on his bones, his cheeks looked a little sunken in too. So the old lady asked him if he wanted a job and a place to call home. Of course Taehyung accepted her offer with no hesitation, anything to get him out of the cold.

He started working the following spring when calf season started late March to early April. He helped Barbra by doing all of the manual labor for her. Scraping out the barn once or twice a day, he actually learned how to drive by taking hay out to the cows out in the field and when he turned sixteen the nice lady took him to get his drivers license and he passed, barely, but he passed and that was the end goal.

By the time Taehyung had turned eighteen Barbra had gifted him the old Ford truck her late husband had in the shed. She told him that if he could fix it and use his own money for the parts then he could have it and sure enough he did.

It took him a couple months of waking up early enough to get a head start on the daily chores he would do for Barb including feeding the chickens, leaving the egg collecting to her.

Once he was done which would normally be by eleven in the morning, he'd be back at his trailer working away at that truck of his until the light pole turned on, telling him it was time to go inside.

He'd drag himself inside barely tripping over the lip of the door frame with his steel toe boots. Raking his fingers through his hair trying to tame the curls that were slowly getting out of control and grabbing a water bottle from the mini fridge on a card table where a larger fridge should be.

Taehyung always kept his living space clean and tidy but there were times where he would get lazy from working on the truck that was proving to be more of a hassle than it was worth in his eyes.

A few well worn jeans lay over the loveseat, many unmated socks sit in the corner of his old lazy chair waiting to be mated and put in his dresser.

The kitchen table was littered with instant dinners and random cheese stick wrappers, soda cans and, water bottles.

Taehyung needed to clean up as soon as possible but first he really needed a shower because he smelled more of burnt motor oil than man right now.

Fast forward ten years and Taehyung is walking down the aisle of the church dressed in black, a few stray tears rolling down his cheeks. Barbra, the sweet lady who had given him a place to live and a paying job too, passed away sometime in the night. "At least she died peacefully and without regrets." Her daughter in law spoke at her funeral with that finishing line.

Taehyung thinks back for a moment and remembers one of their late night talks in the study as she was going through some papers Taehyung wasn't sure what they were at the time. "I regret not being able to give this cattle ranch to any of my kids. I just can't trust them to run it correctly, if at all." She murmured to herself as Taehyung was prattling off about the truck yet again. She did have at least one regret and she took it to her grave that day Taehyung had to help five other men put her in the ground.

A few weeks later Taehyung was standing on his small front porch smoking a cigarette. He has good enough sense not to smoke inside unless it was winter and even then he sat next to the window with it opened a little bit to let the smoke out.

He watched a large red truck roll down the dirt road with a trailer attached to the back with a bunch of furniture in it and behind the truck was a moving van. Both vehicles pulled into the loop driveway of Barb's old house which made him stand up straight.

If there's people moving in that means he might lose his job working under the table including the trailer he had fixed himself so it was livable.

Hell, he might even lose the truck he finally got to start a couple months ago. There was every possibility Taehyung could think of and all he could think about was losing the one place he's ever truly known.

Then she stepped out of the truck, well more like jumped down but, when she walked around to the trailer Taehyung's mind stopped for a moment.

The new ranch master was beautiful, her hair was bright and glossy. She was short and curvy just the way he liked his women, his breath hitched in his throat when she stepped on the truck's tire and threw her lovely legs over the side of the truck with a smile on her face.

He needed to introduce himself, maybe make a good first impression maybe then, he could keep working here and stay in his trailer. He quickly put out his half cigarette and brushed his hands off on his jeans, his hands were clammy and he was nervous to say the least. There was a million ways this could go as he made his way over to the young woman who was now climbing down from the truck down to level ground again.

He stands behind the woman as she takes her boot off, shaking a loose pebble out of it before putting it back on. "Uhm, hi... my name is-" The woman jumps two feet in the air clutching her chest as she whips around to the new voice behind her.

When she sees him she has to glance up to look him in the eye in order to talk to him. He was a tall man, he looked strong enough to handle hard labor, broad shoulders and big hands to boot. But he looked as if he was trying to curl in on himself, like he was almost scared? Shy perhaps?

The woman stares at him for a moment before her eyes light up and she quickly makes her way to the front of the truck pulling out some folders which the ranch hands information on them. "You're Taehyung right? Kim Taehyung?" The woman beams at him as she rounds the truck for a second time looking down at the folder in her arms.

"Y-yeah that's me." He stutters awkwardly shoving his hands deep into his jean pockets. "I'm Y/n O'Brian." She offers him her hand for a hand shake and Taehyung looks between her and her hand for a second before he takes her small hand in his with a small smirk on his lips. "Looks like you're one of the ranch hands who have been here the longest?" Y/n asks as he releases her hand with an awkward chuckle for holding it for so long. "Yeah the uh, bunks are in the back over there in the little yellow barn. I live in the trailer just across the way. Not too far- if you uh, ever need anything." Taehyung rubs the back of his head with a small smile on his lips making Y/n smile back at him.

"Thank yo-" Y/n is cut off by an arm draping over her shoulder giving it a tight squeeze making her wince a little bit. "That's good to know, ain't it honey?" The older looking man grits his teeth looking down at Y/n who puts on a fake smile and chuckles quietly to the man next to her.

He looks back at Taehyung, standing there with a grimace on his face. Extending his hand to the ranch hand with an ugly smirk on his face, they shake hands roughly. "Nice to meet you kid. My name is Joshua, just Josh is fine though. My wife and I hope nothing will go wrong while the ranch is under our care." He chuckles darkly when Taehyung removes his hand from his and takes a step back. "Yeah, let's hope not." He sneers back at him.

A few weeks pass and everything is as follows; Taehyung and the other ranch hands wake up a little before the sun starts rising in the sky. The cattle is moved from one field to another so they can continue grazing freely.

The horses who aren't being used by the cattle hands are put into the field with the cows so they can stretch their legs. A few horses are training for shows and contests in town and around the countryside.

The smaller animals such as the chickens and pigs were taken care of by the ranch master and in this case would be Josh but Y/n was awake anyways.

She wraps her robe around herself and ties it off at her middle, grabbing the old wicker basket at the back door and stepping out to take care of the chickens.

Y/n was quietly humming to herself as she picked at least two dozen or more eggs from the chicken coop. The chickens clucked around her feed waiting to be fed almost tripping her a few times when Taehyung comes riding in on one of the many horses.

He offers help every morning when he sees her half asleep and grumpy. His heart aches for her when he sees a new bruise or cut on her delicate skin, he wishes he could do something for her but he knows he can't do or say anything without potentially losing his job and place of living.

He's gone toe to toe with Josh before when Y/n went to her garden with a bruise under her right eye. Taehyung was pissed that her husband thought it was okay to hit her like that, his parents never laid a finger on each other before one day something changed and they started looking sick.

He never left them because they were his parents he loved them so much. When they stopped moving one day Taehyung had ran away to the next town over where Barbra found him a few days after he had made it to town.

A few months would pass and Y/n, Taehyung and a few of the other ranch hands were becoming really good friends. They all went out for some drinks one Friday night, somehow Y/n had made it past her abusive husband to come out with them.

They played pool and darts most of the time while enjoying each others company. It was the first time Y/n felt free, more like herself than she had in years.

When one of her favorite songs came on over the speakers Y/n couldn't hold her excitement as she grabbed Taehyung by the hand, pulling him onto the dance floor with her.

After Taehyung had started driving Y/n home in his truck because she had one too many drinks, she shuffled closer to him on the bench seat, nuzzling under his shoulder until he moved to wrap his arm around her.

Her cheeks were red and warm as she laid her head on his chest while he kept one hand on the wheel down the dirt road. She started playing with his hands, measuring her hand against his, tracing the lines on the joints of his fingers. Even ghosting her finger tips along the palm of his hand making Taehyung shiver under her gentle touch.

Especially when she drunkenly lays her hand on his thigh making him squirm in the bench seat next to her until he pulled into the driveway of his trailer.

The door was barely opened before Taehyung stumbled inside with Y/n's legs wrapped around his hips as he held her by the back of her thighs, holding them tightly with his large hands as they made out.

Both of them clumsily made it to his bedroom, Taehyung lays her on the bed gently, driven by the alcohol coursing through his system and the feelings he has for Y/n.

This beautiful woman who had captured his heart with her sweet accent alone. He kisses her feverishly but slowly trying to hold back as much as he could until she wanted more of him.

She tugs on his plaid shirt a few times as Taehyung leaves a small mark just between the cleavage of her breast where it could be hidden easily. He feels her pull on him and quickly disposes of his shirt revealing himself to her.

She stares at him for a moment, admiring his hard muscles that twitched under her touch as he kneels on the bed between her legs. She slowly un-buckles his belt causing Taehyung to look down at what she was doing then back at her.

"Are you sure? I don't wanna do anything you aren't comfortable with." He coos, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear looking at her with all the love in the world. "I'm sure Tae, please? I need you. I want to feel safe again." She cries the alcohol in her system playing with her emotions. Taehyung coos at her again, giving her soft slow kisses all over her, making sure she knew she was meant to be loved just like this.

Taehyung didn't see Y/n much after that night, he would stay outside doing chores while also keeping an eye out for the ranch master's wife.

By Gods he hated admitting that someone got to marry that beautiful woman before he did, he would mentally kick himself over nothing every time he thought about it.

Taehyung couldn't do much about the abusive nature of her husband either, the few times that he had stepped in he either got a black eye or a few bruised ribs when he tried to defend her to him because obviously she had done nothing wrong in the first place.

He almost lost his job three or four different times over the course of eight months but he made sure to tell Y/n that he was always there if she wanted to talk or just simply sit in silence for a while.

She would tell him the same thing every time too. "I'll be find don't worry about me. Too much of a hassle to deal with anyways." Without fail Taehyung would watch her silently from the other side of the fence during the work day and keep a closer eye on the house once the work day was over.

Every so often by the light in the living room window he could see their shadows dancing around the curtain when Joshua would get angry with her for what he didn't know but Taehyung bets it has something to do with the food being too spicy or too bland.

The man was never happy with anything his wife did which made Taehyung's blood boil when he saw that Y/n was trying her best to please him.

The next day comes and goes by in a hurry as the evening sun sets against the horizon just beyond the pasture. Taehyung lights a cigarette and takes a seat in his little lawn chair facing the ranch house, the same little window like he had been staring through the last few weeks since the night Taehyung knew he crossed the line but it was a beautiful line to cross in the first place.

Tonight's fight was no different than all the others, Josh was waving his hands around, yelling and screaming so loud he could hear it from his trailer.

The only difference was he heard Y/n yelling back at him, making Taehyung stand pin straight taking a long drag off of his cigarette before throwing it to the side, leaning over the banister a cold expression on his face as he stares intently at the window.

All of it happened so quickly Taehyung had barely processed what happened before he had jumped clear off his porch and ran to the ranch house.

He bangs on the door a few times before he slams his body weight against the frame, breaking it with two hits of his body. Once the door was down he ran through the kitchen and into the living room tackling Josh to the ground and wrestling him for the gun as Y/n sits shell shocked against the fridge, watching the two of them beat on each other.

Taehyung manages to throw the gun out of Josh's reach and against Y/n feet as she tries to shakily talk to the emergency operator on the other side of the phone.

Josh stands into the living room grabbing the old lamp Y/n's grandmother had given to her and smashes it over Taehyungs head making him fall to the ground.

He shakes his head trying to get his vision to focus when Y/n's raggedy husband grabs a fistful of Taehyung's curly hair and pulls him to his feet.

"You think- just because you fucked my wife- that you can just barge in here unannounced?!" Josh screams in Taehyung's face as he huffs out a get fucked at him with a smirk on his face, spitting a mix of saliva and blood at his feet.

He punches the ranch hand in the gut and he doubles over onto the floor holding his stomach. Y/n looks at him worriedly her eyes as round as saucers, trying to hide the phone from sight.

She lifts her index finger to her lips to let Taehyung know to be quiet and that help was on the way. "I could beat on my wife all day. You're more fun-" Josh grabs him by the collar lifting him up to meet his gaze. "You actually fight back, gives me a challenge." He chuckles darkly pulling his large fist back to hit Taehyung's bloody face again when the click of a gun is heard behind him.

"Leave him alone Joshua- the cops are already on their way so stop this right now." Y/n orders her husband aiming the gun square at his head. Josh scoffs at her but gently puts Taehyung back onto his own two feet. "You won't do shit, if you were- you'd have done it already bitch." Josh makes his way towards her and she fires the gun into the ceiling without a second thought making the three of them flinch at the sudden change in volume.

"Stay back, I'll shoot you Joshua O'Brian I swear to any god that will listen. I will paint the walls with your brain, if you even have one." Y/n snarls at him when a wave of intense pain washes over her, Y/n goes down kneeling onto the floor holding her stomach.

Taehyung quickly makes his way over to Y/n cradling her in his arms. "The baby." Y/n gasps holding onto his forearms. "Baby? What baby? Y/n?" Taehyung asks frantically keeping the gun within his line of sight. "Yours- Our baby Tae. Fuck this hurts." She curses when Josh chuckles darkly at the pair of them on the floor.

"Bastard child." He scoffs wiping the blood off of his knuckles as sirens can be heard off in the distance and for once Josh actually looks scared.

Two weeks pass after that night, Y/n had moved Taehyung into the ranch house with her because of the nightmares she would have. The first night it happened was the same night the police had taken Joshua away in the back of their cop car.

She woke up in the early hours of the morning and walked over to his trailer, looking like a kicked puppy when Taehyung sleepily answered the door and let her inside. The pair of them slept soundly for the first time in quite a long time.

The day after the court hearing and the divorce papers were signed Y/n steps outside of the courthouse taking a deep breath of fresh air, feeling truly free for the first time in years.

Taehyung walks up beside her and takes her hand in his, his other hand rubs on her stomach as he kneels down level with her stomach making Y/n giggle and smile down at him as he presses kisses along her stomach.

"I love you little one, I don't know if you're a boy or a girl but, either way. Your Daddy is so happy to have you." He whispers against her as the baby kicks Taehyung on the forehead making him take a second to process what just happened. He looks up at Y/n with tears welling in his eyes. "Did they just-" She giggles at him when he wraps his arms around her middle gently.

"Your daughter is quite the fighter." Y/n jokes as she pulls Taehyung back to his feet, brushing the loose dirt from the ranch off of his shoulders with a small smile on her lips.

Taehyung looks into her beautiful eyes, completely entranced by her beauty. "Just like her Mommy." He says leaning down for a kiss and their lips connect for the first time in months

In the next month the baby had made her way into the world quietly, the only time she cried after Y/n had labored for thirteen hours in the hospital delivery room.

She had Taehyung's dark, curly hair and big brown eyes, she was small like her mother even her lips were tiny too. The sight of his two girls curled on the hospital bed as Y/n breast fed was the best thing he's seen for a very long time.

He was mesmerized by them especially Y/n, the same woman who he watched for nearly over a year be beaten the shit out of on a daily basis, who took every hit and every mentally abusive remark for who knows how much longer than he had seen.

She was indeed a strong woman and perfect role model for their daughter. Y/n looks to Taehyung who is lost in thought, staring intently at the two of them with that beautiful boxy smile on his lips when she catches his eye.

"Do you want to hold her?" She asks him and he hesitates for a moment, his daughter is so much smaller than him, he could hurt her if he wasn't careful. "I don't want to break her." His hands shake a little as he walks over to his girls. "You won't hurt her Tae. Just support Naomi's head and you'll be alright. Just like that, good job Dad." Y/n slowly helps Taehyung hold the baby correctly, cradling her in his arms.

She moves in her swaddle a little bit making the tiniest, cutest sound she could possibly make and Taehyung just stares at her in awe. Something so little could produce a smaller sound out of her lips. "She's beautiful. You did such an amazing job darlin'." Taehyung coos at Y/n who stands on the other side of their daughter stroking the tuft of curly hair on top of her head smiling happily.

A year later Taehyung and Y/n are celebrating Naomi's first birthday with the ranch hands and a few other family members in attendance. "Hey sis? Could you hand me the cake cutter? Or a knife I don't care hand me something woman." She chuckles moving through the kitchen swiftly and smoothly like a ballerina performing on stage.

Y/n's father walks into the living room where Taehyung and Y/n's mother sit chatting away while the older kids ran between the kitchen and outside, playing in the sprinkler out in the yard.

"So, Taehyung is it?" Y/n's father accidently interrupts the light hearted conversation, making Taehyung stand and shake her fathers hand firmly. "Yes, I'm Taehyung s-sir." His eyes widen as he stutters, making him curl in on himself.

Her father just chuckles at the poor boy relaxing his posture a little bit, hoping to make the boy a little more comfortable with him. "Don't worry about that kid, you should've heard me the day I met Her mother's dad. Damn, you could see the sweat for miles when I stood on that front porch with flowers in my hand. I was nervous to say the least."

Taehyung takes a breath of relief nodding to her father when her mother confirms it for him by smiling and nodding her head. "Listen son, if you truly love my daughter unlike that no good son-" Y/n's mother coughs, staring him down before finishing for him.

"What he means sweetheart- if you want to marry our daughter, you have our permission to ask her." Taehyung swallows hard as his hands become clammy and he chuckles with Y/n's parents in the living room when the lady of the house comes into view. "Everything's ready! Tae could you go get Naomi? I think my sister has her outside in the sprinklers."

Everyone gathers around the large dining table in the middle of the kitchen, Y/n let Naomi "open" her presents first so she didn't get cake on them. She got plenty of baby toys and more blankets and a few hand made wash cloths from the neighbor down the road.

A few more hours pass of Naomi opening her new toys and Dad putting a few of them together for her. One by one each family member left the house. Y/n said goodbye to her parents last because her mother had helped her clean up the mess when Taehyung and her father picked up the toys from the side yard.

Taehyung waits until Naomi was sound asleep in her crib, thank god that child slept like a fucking rock too because if Taehyung was going to go through with this, the baby needed to be out like a light.

Y/n was getting ready for bed in their master bathroom when Taehyung comes up and hugs her from behind, nuzzling his nose into the crook of her neck and wrapping his arms around her middle, almost missing the baby bump she used to have.

"I love you, Y/n." He whispers into her ear making her shiver as his hot breath hits her cold skin fresh out of the shower. Taehyung and Y/n makes eye contact through the mirror in front of them and she can almost see the predatory glint in his eyes as his eyes scan her body only to meet her gaze again.

"I love the way you wake me up in the mornings. I love the way your night gowns give so much but leave just enough to the imagination. I love the way your hair blows in the wind when we sit outside together. I love our daughter we made together. I just- love you so much." Taehyung starts to tear up and Y/n coos at him lovingly. "I love you too, Tae. What's wrong baby? Did my dad say something?" His grip on her body tightens the slightest bit when she mentioned her father.

"N-no he didn't- I mean he did but- that's not the point. I'm trying to be romantic and you're ruining it." He playfully scoffs giving her ass a light slap and grabbing it making her squeal. "Okay, okay I'm sorry. Continue please?" She pouts into the mirror holding onto his forearms around her stomach. Taehyung takes a deep breath as he speaks again only a little irritated.

"You're as pretty as south Georgia peaches and as hot as any Tennessee June. Did you know that? Every time I look at you I fall more and more in love with everything you do. Even if the little things you do irritate me sometimes, like not believing me when I tell you you're beautiful." Taehyung pauses to place a few kisses along Y/n's jawline and neck, his hands roaming her body as he talks to her lovingly.

Y/n giggles against him and turns to face him when he pins her to the bathroom sink. "But I think the thing that's got me hooked on you the most is when you say you love me in that sweet, soft, slow, southern drawl of yours. It drives me crazy Y/n, sometimes I think you lay it on thick on purpose." He smirks down at her innocent eyes.

"I ain't got a clue what yer talkin' about sweetheart." Y/n looks around the room when Taehyung rolls his eyes back, tilting his head slightly with a low groan.

"That- That right there is what I'm talking about little lady. It's like you love driving me crazy just by speaking." He teases her, pulling her gown up just enough to reveal her thighs he's been thinking about all day, he couldn't wait to be between them. Taehyung dips down to her level locking eyes with her once again before his gaze drops down to her sweet lips.

"Say my name." He deadpans his eyes still locked on her lips, waiting patiently as he can for her to speak. Y/n stutters when he picks her up to sit her on the bathroom counter top next to the sink. "T-Taehyung." She says softly when one of his large hands smack the counter next to her hip, sliding to her hip giving it a squeeze as he closes his eyes.

"I love it when you say my name baby," He purrs in her ear making her shiver again when his hand ghosts over her stomach. He opens his eyes again pressing his lips to hers with fervor almost pushing her against the large mirror before picking her up again and taking her to the bed.

He lays her down gently like he had the first time they had been in this position but this time there were no repercussions of their actions.

They continue to kiss each other like it was the last time they're going to be able to. Y/n pulls him closer to her by the back of his neck giving the little hairs on the back of his neck a tug earning a soft moan from Taehyung. He angles himself to look at her, propping himself onto his hands on either side of her head as he hovers over her.

"Marry me."

Y/n takes a moment to look at the man hovering above her curvy frame. Did he- of course he did, every chance he got he would mess around with the idea.

Y/n never took any of it too seriously considering the hell she had just gotten out of just a little over a year ago. Y/n caresses his cheek softly looking up at him with stars in her eyes as the tears began to pool at the brim. "Yes. yes Taehyung I will marry you. Just please, don't hurt me." She pleads with him and he hushes her worries with a kiss that hopefully portrayed all of the emotions he had for her. He latches onto her neck leaving a good sized love bite on her neck before he kissed her cheek.

"I could never hurt the one person who has made me happier in the last two years, than I have been my entire life."

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 1 month ago

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Rob Rogers

* * * *

In praise of the what if, whatever, and why not of doubt

Lucian K. Truscott IV

Oct 17, 2024

I’ll just bet you haven’t heard the term, “fatal funnel.” Can you imagine what it might be? I mean, try to form an image in your mind of a funnel, any kind of funnel, like the one you might have used to pour oil into your car’s engine, or even a waffle ice cream cone with the small end removed. Now try to figure out how you would make a thing called a “funnel” deadly.

I’ll bet you can’t. But I want you to know, there are a lot of people who can. Some of them bought militia manuals and bomb-making videos that a man by the name of Christopher Arthur published online through a company he called Tackleberry Solutions. One of the manuals was called, “The End of America or the Next Revolutionary War.” According to an ABC News story published today, Christopher Arthur believed that, “the U.S. was falling into chaos and there would be only one way to survive: kill or be killed.”

Arthur is an Army combat veteran of the war in Iraq and a member of the National Guard. He was found guilty of teaching people to make improvised explosive devices intended to kill police officers and for possessing bombs and bomb-making materials inside and around his home in Mount Olive, North Carolina. His wife and five children lived in the home where he stored the bombs. One bomb was on his porch under an overturned plastic tub where his children played. It was wired to a trigger that would set it off if police ever approached his house to arrest him. A judge gave Arthur 20 years in prison, the maximum allowed by law.

A fatal funnel is a tactic taught by Arthur to prospective militia members who visited his North Carolina farm for training sessions. The tactic is intended to trap attackers by funneling them into a smaller and smaller space until they can be shot and killed by a small untit or single shooter. Joshua Blessed stayed at Arthur’s farm and slept on a cot in his kitchen. During the day, Arthur and Blessed would go out into the surrounding woods to shoot automatic weapons and practice bomb making and military tactics.

Blessed was a truck driver. According to ABC News, weeks after training with Arthur in North Carolina, Blessed was stopped for speeding in his truck on a road between Rochester and Buffalo in upstate New York. An argument with the police officer ensued, and Blessed drove off with the officer still standing on his truck’s running board. During the chase that followed, Blessed fired at pursuing police cars until he finally turned his truck to block a narrow highway off-ramp with the truck’s trailer and cab in a V-shape. Blessed fired from the cab at officers until one of the officers managed to get around to the other side of the truck. Surprised, Blessed drove off, followed by the police cars. Finally, they forced his truck onto a farm road where they had set up a police ambush and fired at the truck cab as he sped by. The truck crashed into a ditch, and officers found Blessed dead in the driver’s seat with a bullet through his head. Five police vehicles had been struck by bullets fired by Blessed. Forty police officers in all were involved in the chase.

Blessed had been trying to form a militia group called “The Army of God” to prepare for an “upcoming Civil War,” according to the FBI’s field office in Richmond, Virginia. ABC reported that officers found in Blessed’s truck after the chase “two how-to explosives and military tactics manuals for which he had paid $850 from Arthur’s Tackleberry Solutions. They would find $125,000 in cash, 14 live pipe bombs, an AK-47 with a scope, a .50-caliber rifle, a sniper rifle and tens of thousands of dollars in ammunition.”

The FBI finally arrested Christopher Arthur after an undercover officer witnessed and secretly recorded Arthur teaching others, including the undercover officer, to make improvised explosive devices. Arthur described to the undercover officer how he would kill the governor of a state: “Say it’s a whole walled-off gated house. The governor’s mansion. Alright, how do I attack him? Well, he’s going to have to leave to go to the Capitol at some point, right? I know if I can put a round right there in the base of the windshield where it meets the dashboard. I’ll hit him. So is the sniper hit better? Yes.” According to the undercover FBI man, Arthur’s wife and children were nearby in the yard working in a garden and talking about school when the assassination instruction took place.

Twenty years in prison. A heavily armed truck driver killed after a chase by 40 cops on a public highway. Hundreds convicted of criminal trespass and violence against police officers at the U.S. Capitol on Jan. 6, 2021, people Donald Trump among whom included himself at a town hall yesterday on the Univision Network when he used the word, “we.”

“We didn’t have guns. The others had guns, but we didn’t have guns,” Trump said. “That was a day of love.”

Please allow me to tell you what the difference is between politics and a gun. With a slight depression of your finger on a trigger, a gun can kill, meaning a gun can end the life of another human being. Politics can affect you. Politics can change what you pay in taxes, or what speed you are allowed to drive on your local streets or an interstate highway, or whether your trash is picked up once or twice a week. Politics can be confusing and infuriating. Policy arguments and political contests can be won or lost, but the results are not forever.

When politics and guns merge, civil war is the result. Six hundred thousand Americans died between 1861 and 1865 because of a political argument over the issue of slavery. The difference between the South and the North was that the South was willing to kill and be killed in order to maintain the right to own other human beings as slaves. The political argument ended when the first shot was fired.

Wars are absolute. Winning and losing means life or death. But politics in this country is not a fatal funnel, narrowing it down to “us” and “them,” making it as absolute as warfare.

They used to call politics the battlefield of ideas. One of our two political parties has decided that its politics is existential, that it is a battlefield where being “right” conveys absolute power given by God. Winning in this kind of politics means the rule of law can be superseded by force, allowing the National Guard and active duty Army to be employed against those who were “wrong.” One of our two political candidates has recently threatened to do just this if he is elected. Such a right to retribution comes only from belief in self, not in laws that are agreed upon as greater than oneself.

Our other political party has more doubts than beliefs. Doubt allows for the possibility of loss in the way that science assures us of the inevitability of our own deaths. We know the sun will come up in the morning because we have experience in day and night that dates back to the opening of our eyes as infants. We have no such experience with certainty. It is a belief system, an illusion invented in hopes of personal gain.

How does “whatever” win out over “must be”? By realizing that right and wrong are temporal, part of the natural ebb and flow of living on this planet, as floods and fires and earthquakes are as much a part of the weather of existence as the birth of a child or the death of a loved one.

We are here. One day, we won’t be, and there will be others who come after us. Then politics will belong to them. That is the difference between belief, which seeks to fix a certain future, and doubt, which allows for the inevitability of change.

[Lucian Truscott Newsletter]

#political #election 2024 #Lucian Truscott Newsletter #doubt #military tactics #fatal funnel #assassination #Christopher Arthur #Joshua Blessed #civil war

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amoxicillin-tangent · 1 year ago

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"her · it · age"

property that is or may be inherited; an inheritance.

i visit my hometown for the first time in a decade. i have never felt more or less like me. before today, i was no one because i had nowhere to remember and nothing that was truly mine. and now i feel like someone again. someone with roots.

my roots are filthy, nasty, rotten. set in a town with more bayous than banks, backwater, backwoods. my roots are set in trailer parks with moon crater puddles of stagnant water. my roots are set in putrid places where flowers refuse to bloom.

but at the corner right past the railroad that goes on forever, there is a trailer home without air conditioning where the hummingbirds fly. that is where my murky, trashy, broken roots begin and they are mine.

i buy a french vanilla cappuccino from a corner store that's open all night. the cashier takes one look at me and say "that'll be a dollar forty-nine. yer one-a dem Gauthier girls, aintcha?" and I nod politely, say yes ma'am i am, though i'm a Gauthier in face and not name. i pay a dollar bill and 2 quarters for my drink. she gives me a dime in change. by the time i realize she got it wrong, it's too late for me to turn back. i pocket the 10-cent piece. maybe I'll frame it.

there's a man selling peaches by the basket on the roadside. i buy a single one. it drips down my chin and tastes like heaven like home, and the scent won't leave my breath. i turn the car around and go back, understanding now why he sells them in batches of 20.

the clouds are fallen angels turning their backs on the world. everything prays for the south-- the grass, the grain, the dirt. eventually the angel clouds turn back around, casting their shadows at the rusted crucifix on Margie's purple wall.

there are no towers on the horizon, no mechanical sepulchers sinking their teeth into the ground to drink the oil like parched soil drinks the year's first rainfall. there are no towers here, just trees for miles and angel clouds and rickety train-cars fallen on their sides.

the roads are almost empty, where they exist at all. there is more traffic at night. some of it is ghosts. no one questions this.

the neighbor ladies sip sweet tea and their gossip sounds like ice cubes clinking against smudged glasses, "didja hear Jessica's baby ain't right in the head?" "sure ain't. and who would be, under the circumstances? can't believe she married Chantelle." "funny, i never reckoned she'd be a dyke." there is an edge of disdain in their tea-glass voices, overshadowed by boredom.

strange things happen in the church on 1st street. the trains rush through the town. before anyone hears or sees them, they make their presence known by shaking the ground. everything is dilapidated now. the buildings are broken like a child's lincoln log castles. the families are shattered like mother's good vases.

the morning light comes and dew glistens over everything, spiderwebs stretch out bigger than my face, clover fields and dove feathers and honeysuckles litter the ground.

everything has changed but its all the same, there are still pieces of me scattered through the world. at least i have this one back.

it's time for me to leave.

#my pics #southern gothic #poetry #spilled ink #poem #poets on tumblr #tw: homophobia #tw: slurs #tw: church mentions #tw: religious themes #tw: ableism #spilled poem #poetry community #poets and writers #hometown #nostalgia #ethel cain #my hometown gives me ethel cain vibes okay it's just a thing #names changed for anonymity

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logisticscompaniesinabudhabi · 9 months ago

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The Vital Role of Logistics Companies Abu Dhabi | Ocean City Trailer Manufacturing in Dubai

Logistics companies in Abu Dhabi like OCT are indispensable partners for businesses seeking to thrive in today's fast-paced global economy. With their expertise, efficiency, and commitment to excellence, they not only facilitate the seamless movement of goods but also drive innovation and competitiveness across industries. As Abu Dhabi continues to cement its position as a leading commercial hub, the role of logistics companies in fueling its economic growth becomes increasingly vital.

#land transport services #Logistics companies in Abu Dhabi #cargo truck #cargo trailers #trailer accessories #trailers spare parts #Oil Field Trailers #Low Bed Trailers

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rushmoregroups · 4 months ago

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A Guide to Earth Moving Spare Parts Manufacturers in Dubai

Dubai, known for its modern architecture, luxury shopping, and vibrant nightlife, is also a thriving hub for the construction industry. At the heart of this industry lies a robust network of earth-moving spare parts manufacturers and suppliers. These companies play a crucial role in ensuring that construction and infrastructure projects run smoothly by providing essential components for heavy machinery. In this article, we'll explore some of the key players in this sector, the range of products they offer, and the factors that make Dubai a significant center for earth-moving spare parts.

Importance of Earth Moving Spare Parts

Earth-moving equipment, such as excavators, bulldozers, loaders, and cranes, are essential for construction projects, mining operations, and other industrial activities. These machines require regular maintenance and replacement of parts to operate efficiently and safely. High-quality spare parts extend the life of equipment, minimise downtime, and enhance productivity.

Why Dubai?

Dubai's strategic location, world-class infrastructure, and business-friendly environment make it an ideal hub for the earth-moving spare parts industry. The city's connectivity to major global markets enables manufacturers and suppliers to efficiently import raw materials and export finished products. Additionally, Dubai's diverse workforce and advanced logistics capabilities contribute to the sector's growth and success.

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Conclusion

The earth-moving spare parts industry in Dubai is a vital component of the region's construction and industrial sectors. With a range of reliable manufacturers and suppliers, companies can easily access the components they need to keep their machinery running smoothly. As Dubai continues to grow and develop, the demand for high-quality spare parts is expected to rise, further cementing the city's position as a key player in the global market.

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Website: https://www.rushmore.ae/

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echoingbirdsofprey · 11 hours ago

Text

Lightning On My Lips (Every Time You Kiss Me)

14 - Aftermath

Pairing: Tyler Owens x OFC Georgia Tennley

Rating: Explicit (MDNI!)

Warnings: canon typical tornado violence and mentions of blood

A/N: This is where the movie and anything canon ends and the real story begins so I hope y'all enjoy the continuation of this journey.

Playlist

Fire.

That was all Georgia saw as the refinery beside them exploded into flames, the twister carrying the inferno. Fuel. It became fuel for the twister and as Tyler gunned it toward El Reno, the tornado grew times ten. Kate, from the back seat, could only mutter, “holy shit,” under her breath.

Tyler’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel as he tried to steady the truck in the heavy winds from the building, monster of a twister. Though the barrels were short, and his truck had enough weight on the chassis, the roll cage frame still acted a little like a sail in strong wind. And Georgia knew as well as Tyler how much a trailer’s gravity affected the truck itself. Ole Red was a beast but she wasn’t indestructible. Tyler knew that. Georgia knew that. Kate suspended her belief that it wasn’t.

As they got closer to El Reno, Oklahoma, they could hear the tornado sirens sounding, and they could see people running and heading for shelter. They all headed to help people get to safety. Dexter and Dani got kids and parents to a safe spot off the baseball field that they’d stopped at. Ben, Lily, Boone, Kasey, and Cory helped anyone on the outskirts, ushering people toward buildings and trying to find out where there were basements available. Tyler, Georgia, and Kate went to the main street where there was a farmers market and they helped people get into building there. There was a movie theater that could hold a ton of people so once everywhere else was full, they started telling people to head that way. Tyler, Georgia, Kate were the last ones in, dodging debris as they headed for the theater.

Kate got to the door first and looked back, Georgia not too far behind but Tyler was nowhere in sight. Georgia’s gaze met Kate’s and she realized in the chaos of everything, when Tyler said “keep going” she hadn’t looked back for him. She assumed he was right behind her, so when she turned her head and didn’t see him at all, she panicked.

“Tyler?!” She yelled and Kate tried to grab for her hand, but she just missed, so she followed Georgia back onto the main drag, which was littered with debris. The wind was only getting stronger and they shielded their eyes as they waded through vendor’s blown over tents and tables, trying to find Tyler.

“Gee! Help!” She zeroed in on his voice, coming from the right of her. She stumbled over piles of splintered wood and twisted metal, and Kate caught her, aiding her in getting to Tyler as quickly as possible. They both tried their best to lift what he was stuck under but they weren’t strong enough, even together. Kate placed a hand on Georgia’s shoulder, before glancing around for something, anything to try to get leverage to lift it. Georgia continued trying to lift the wood roofing that he was stuck under, tears beginning to run down her cheeks. She flinched when she heard the loud crunch of metal hitting metal and they both looked up as they saw an oil drill that had been ripped from the ground hit the El Reno Water Tower. The supports of the tower were breaking under the extreme winds and they didn’t have much time.

“Gee! Go!” Tyler yelled over the deafening winds.

“I'm not leaving you, Tyler! I can’t...I can’t!” Georgia’s voice broke as she grabbed one of his hands and just then she saw a wide wood post come into view and lodge under where Tyler was stuck. She felt Kate’s presence at her side and saw Javi at the end of the post.

“Lift!” Javi yelled and they all put all their effort in to heave the wood off of Tyler. Once he was free he stumbled and yelped and Georgia saw that his jeans were ripped and the skin on his upper thigh was dripping crimson, staining the edges of the rips. They all ran toward the theater and once they got inside, they helped move people toward the back. There was no basement and nowhere else for everyone to go and that was when Kate made the decision to take Ole Red. Kate ran to the back door and opened it, horrified at the size of the monster tornado that was bearing down on the town. Georgia was right behind her and as Kate was about to leave, Georgia tried to stop her.

“Let me do this, Georgia! Let me try...let me make everything right!” She yelled to her, as she pulled out of Georgia’s arms. Tyler, Javi, and Boone appeared behind Georgia and Tyler grabbed for her. Georgia lunged after Kate, screaming her name as she watched her drive away in Tyler’s truck. Tears stung his eyes as he held Georgia back. He almost wanted to go himself, but he knew now that he couldn’t. It had to be Kate.

They closed the doors and left Kate to her fate. They tried their best to get everyone as close to the back of the theater as they could, huddling under seats and in corners as close as possible. As the front wall of the theater began to crumble and the bricks were ripped away, everyone grabbed for whatever they could to try to stay alive. Tyler had his body over Georgia’s and was covering her face with his chest. As the winds picked up, he knew what was coming. If the silver iodide rockets didn’t work, and if the barrels didn’t get sucked into the tornado, they would all be dead. Gone. Wiped from the face of the earth in an instant. Tyler noticed Lily’s hand slipping and he grabbed for her hands as her body was lifted into the air. He held onto her as tight as he could, one of his legs wrapped around the legs of the theater seats and the other holding Georgia down as best as he could. He closed his eyes and used all the strength in his body to anchor the three of them. He prayed this would all end. He prayed that Kate was okay and that everything worked the way it was supposed to. He prayed that it would all be over soon.

And then suddenly Lily’s body was set down. The wind died down. The clouds dissipated. The dust and smoke in the air cleared and everything was quiet as the grave.

“Thank you.” Lily said, her voice shaky, as people began to stand and dust themselves off. Tyler helped Georgia up and they could see in the field, in the distance, his truck had been rolled. They all headed out to see if Kate was still alive.

Georgia was the first there, as she sprinted when she saw a hand moving from the blown out window. She slid on her knees to get to Kate and with Javi and Tyler’s help, they pulled her from under the truck.

“Is it okay? Is everyone okay? Did it work?” Kate asked, looking confused and Georgia hugged her, carefully just in case anything was broken.

“You did it, Kate.” Javi said, his voice bathed with relief.

She did it. Kate’s barrels flew. Quite literally. It was up to her and Javi to figure out what to do next. Tyler offered his crew to help as well. In the aftermath, they helped people reunite with each other if they needed to, aiding in some of the clean up, and Dani and Dexter even brought a few people to the emergency room that had minor injuries like cuts or concussions.

Kate didn’t want to go to a hospital, and she only had a few cuts and bruises anyway. Ole Red took the brunt of the tornado. She got checked and patched up in the back of an ambulance that came. Georgia stayed with her and while they had a few minutes, she asked Kate her thoughts.

“I feel better. I'm going to go back to New York and try to get more funding for more research. Javi said he's going to drop Riggs so...I guess I have a new partner.” She said and Georgia smiled. “What about you and Tyler?”

“Oh...uh...” Georgia stuttered and glanced around for him. She caught his eyes, as he was helping Boone and Javi lift some heavy pieces of debris out of the street. He smiled at her and tipped his head in her direction. His wound had been looked at and luckily it was just a scrape. He would be more sore than anything else. “Tyler wants to go home to Arkansas and then come back this way. We're trying to figure some things out..”

‘I meant to ask...the other night...what happened? We saw you two leave the party and then something seemed different between you too that next morning. I know Boone said you guys finally...did it...but you know Boone, he’s a little crazy.” Kate asked and Georgia stared at her, almost blankly, because her mind shot off in a million directions thinking of all the things that her and Tyler had done.

“Yeah, uh...somethin’ like that...Kate...can I tell you somethin’ but don’t tell anyone yet? It’s not a definite but...its...well...I think it will be.” Georgia said and Kate straightened up, taking a hold of both of her hands.

“Of course you can, what is it?” She asked and Georgia smiled warmly at Kate.

“I think...I might...be pregnant. Maybe.” Georgia said in a hushed tone and Kate's eyes widened significantly.

“Oh...Oh!...Oh?” She raised a brow and smirked, nudging at Georgia. She motioned behind Georgia, who turned to catch sight of Tyler coming toward them. Kate kept her voice low as he approached. “I have so many questions that we need to discuss when I get back from New York...but if that's the case...congratulations and I can't wait.” Kate said, vibrating with excitement as she pulled Georgia into a hug. Georgia smiled and as Kate let go, Tyler appeared. He made sure Kate was okay and then held out his hand for Georgia to take. She did so and they left Kate in Javi’s capable hands while they walked out to his truck, which a friend of his had come to help with.

They'd gotten her righted and checked the suspension. It wasn't exactly driveable at the moment, but because of Tyler's handiwork, the welded roll cage had saved the frame and most of the truck. They would need to reattach the augers and some other parts but it was mostly very fixable. Tyler's friend introduced himself.

“Hey I'm Dakota. Nice to meetchu. You must be Georgia. I've heard a lot aboutcha.” He said as he held out his hand to shake. Georgia did so and smiled at him.

“All good things, I hope.” She mused and he smiled. Tyler's hand at her waist tightened.

“Yeah, T can't ever keep his mouth shut up aboutcha. It's cute.” He punched Tyler's shoulder lightly and then pointed to the truck. “So where am I hauling her? If you want a ride and want'er fixed I'm the next couple days, Bobby always has a spot in Taylor Ferry for you.”

“Well, that makes the most sense then, cause we can hop on fifty-one after and slide right into Arkansas. I gotta bring Boone to Little Rock.” Tyler explained and he glanced down at Georgia as if he was asking permission. Her brows furrowed and she nodded. Dakota reached out to shake Tyler's hand.

“I'll get'er on the trailer and you let me know when you're ready to go. Got plenty of room in the truck for everyone.” Dakota said and he walked away to get everything prepared for them to leave.

There would be more storms here and there over the next few weeks, but Tyler knew his crew needed a break after that one. They had almost lost Kate, and Lily. But, they'd gained Javi, and now Kate was going to head to New York and present a proposal, asking for grant money to the National Weather Service board. Over the quiet season, Boone and Tyler would build another truck like Tyler's so that they could accommodate for more chasing and more live streams. Tyler's grand plan was unfolding slowly and he couldn't wait to see the results.

🌪⛈️🌪

Everyone parted ways, only for a little while. Javi took Kate to the airport so that she could go back to New York and try to get grant money for research. Dani, Dexter, and Lily were heading to their respective residences near Little Rock, Arkansas. Kasey and Cory caught a ride with some other storm chasers back to Oklahoma City but not before wishing Georgia and Tyler the best of luck. Georgia and Tyler, along with Boone hitched the ride to Taylor Ferry, Oklahoma to Bobby's Diesel Repair Garage.

Tyler had worked with Bobby a ton on this truck. He was an older gentleman, and he worked primarily on diesel trucks of all sizes, occasionally a car here or there. Bobby was the one who offered Tyler to use the truck lift, so that Tyler could get under his truck and run the electrical for the switches in the middle console, as well as the welder for the roll cage. He had a camper and some extra rooms in his house, so there was a place for Tyler, Georgia, and Boone to stay while his truck got fixed.

Bobby had a nice little property, just by a beach. They were just off Fort Gibson Lake, and he had a boat dock with a small fishing boat, as well as a cute cottage that was only one floor. It was an odd house as Bobby just kept building additions onto it, so it was a maze of different rooms here and there, that all had windows and a door to the outside. More like a secret base than a house, really. He had a big yard, where the camper was parked and the garage was just down a little dirt road, every kind of truck from a 1500 to a semi-truck parked along the sides and around the building.

Bobby had a wife and kids that were now grown. His wife, Delia, bred cattle dogs and had a litter of puppies that were just about ready to go home with people. Delia had brought out refreshments for them all as they worked. It took all three of them, plus Dakota and Bobby to get the truck finished, but it only took them half the day. Tyler thanked them up and down, paid them, and also ordered pizza. There was a small fire pit with Adirondack chairs around it. They all sat, covered in oil, sweat, and dirt, and enjoyed a round of beers. Delia brought out a reddish brown speckled puppy, and placed him in Georgia’s arms.

“Oh my god. They’re so cute. How many more puppies do you have?” She asked and Delia was followed by the mom and her other seven puppies. Georgia’s face lit up and she handed the red one to Tyler. Boone picked up one of them, a dark blue speckled one, and Delia handed Georgia another, one with more speckling mixed in the blue. The rest of the puppies dispersed, going under the chairs and one headed right for Bobby. Delia sat down and the momma sat next to her. Dakota picked up two red puppies and the rest settled around their mom.

“There’s these guys and I’ve got a kennel run in the back of the house. This litter is all named after breakfast food. You’ve got Pancake, the red is Grits, and Boone’s got Waffles. The others are Sausage, Eggs, Muffin, McMuffin, and Bacon. Mom is Rosie and Dad is Diesel. I’ve got another female named Daisy and she’s gonna pop soon. We’re thinking those little guys will be all food themed names too.” Delia explained and Georgia giggled as the puppy in her arms, Pancake, tried to crawl up around her neck and lick her ear. Grits, the red one that Tyler had, was curled in his lap, mostly asleep and Waffles, who Boone had, was playing with Boone’s belt loops. Delia smiled and said, “Maybe you guys want one?”

“Actually...we’ll take these three.” Tyler said, pointing to Grits, Waffles, and Pancake. Georgia’s eyes widened and her grin was unmatched. Boone smirked.

“Tyler!” Georgia exclaimed and she leaned over her chair to kiss him.

Later that evening as they were getting ready to leave, after everything had been settled, and they made sure Tyler’s truck was set to go, Tyler had asked Georgia to take a quick walk down to the boat dock with him. When they reached the end, he turned to face her, taking a hold of both of her hands. He glanced out over the water, which was calm and reflected the fading sunlight across it.

“Gee...I love you...like I really fuckin’ love you...and I can’t wait to have a big ass family with you...and I know we’re doin’ this shit all sorts of ass backwards...and I ain’t got a ring, but maybe the puppies are a half a promise at least...” Tyler began as he got down on one knee. Georgia’s mouth dropped open and then she smiled as he continued, “So...will you marry me, Georgia Tennley?”

“Course I will, Tyler Owens, now stand up and kiss me, you silly man.” She said and he smiled as he stood and her hands met his cheeks. They kissed and as they parted, Georgia spoke softly to him, their eyes locking. “I don’t need a ring, Tyler, I just need you.”

#tyler owens x oc #tyler owens fic #tyler owens #twisters 2024 #twisters fanfic #glen powell

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