#Window replacement Georgia

[windowsolutionsusa]

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[gurgaonpropertyin]

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[hidtired]

Unfortunate Timing [Part 1]

(Daryl Dixon x Reader) Masterlist

Description: You found out your pregnant early into your relationship with Daryl Dixon. To make matters worse? The apocalypse happens a few days later! (not fully canon)

5.7k words

Warnings (Pregnancy, gore, smut, reference to abuse, violence, fluff, walking dead stuff, ect.)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 etc.

Pre Apocalypse

You had moved to a small town in Georgia to get away from your parents. Your Aunt Mary had a little boutique and offered a job. Your parents didn’t like you weren’t married yet, not even dating either. So they have been shoving men at you for the last few years. They thought by your age you should have been married with kids. They wanted grandkids. Your brother was married but him and his wife struggled with fertility. The final straw was trying to get you into an arranged marriage with one of your father’s business buddies kid. You had only just turned 30.

It had freaked you out how your parents made it seem like you didn’t have a choice. So you packed your bags, your mother pleaded for you to not go. You broke the lease to your apartment and left without telling them where.

You like the simple life you were leading now. Helping your Aunt's business. You lived with her because she was a widow with no kids and wanted the company. You had some interesting neighbors across the street. You had just driven into the driveway taking notice of a man fixing his truck. It was hot outside and his arms were covered in grease.

You walked into the kitchen where your Aunt was doing dishes. You decided to help making idle talk about how the shop was until you looked out the window to still see the sleeveless man. Your Aunt caught you looking, "Thought you came here to get away from boys?" You smile shyly at being caught, looking back down and handing her a wet plate to be dried. "Never said that... Just the one my parents choose. Didn't have time to look for a date when men were thrown at me randomly by them." Your Aunt was amused to say the least. "That's Daryl Dixon, him and his brother live there. You have to watch yourself with a Dixon. But Daryl has helped me with a few things that broke around the house. He replaced the battery's in the fire alarms for me a week before you came."

You gave her a sideways look, "You trying to set me up now to?" Mary laughs, "Fine fine, granted I do bake something for him every time he does something for me. Could just have a sweet tooth." You look back out the window, ‘Daryl huh?’

It was a week later that you got a call from your brother. You went on a walk to take the call. He was anger that your father was on him for a kid because you had disappeared. The pressure had turned to his wife who was already having a hard time with infertility. It was when you were walking back to the house did the conversation get heated.

"Grow a back bone and yell at them Mathew! Why are you coming at me for!?" He responded with his own venom, "Why couldn't you just do what they asked! But go ahead die alone for all I care!" He ended the call abruptly after. You clenched your teeth tight and closed your eyes trying to compose yourself. A voice called from across the street, "Ya doin alright over there?" You turned to see Daryl beer in hand with the hood of his car open. You sighed shoulders sagging, "Sorry for the yelling." Daryl pick up another beer showing it off to you, "Sounds like ya could use one of these." You put your hands to your hips before deciding to walk over. You grab the beer he handed you with a smile, "Thanks..."

You cracked the can open taking a sip. Daryl stare at you for a second before saying something, “Yer boyfriend causing you trouble?” You chuckled at the thought, making a small face of disgust at it even, “No, that was just my brother being an ass.” Daryl took mental note of that ‘single’. He huffed and looked back down into his trucks hood. “Oh trust me I know how that is.” You look at him as he refocused his attention to his car, ‘That’s right, that’s what your Aunt had said.’ You lean against the truck. “Your Daryl right? I’m Y/N” Daryl looked back up at the mention of you knowing his name, “Oh so ya heard bout us.” He sounded a bit disappointed at the thought. You lean to look inside the car, smiling over to him, “Only the things my Aunt said.” He perked a brow at that, “Who’s yer Aunt? What she say about us?”

“Mary.” You pointed over your shoulder to the house, “And she mentioned you might have a sweet tooth.” Daryl looked over to the house of the lady he often did things for, her niece chiming in again. “Always see you fixing this truck across the street.” He pulled a red rag from his back pocket wiping his hands, “Ya damn thing always seems to be breakin.” He took notice of the girl fully now. You took slow sips of the beer he gave you while starring into the hood. “Well if I have any trouble with my car I know who to ask.” You looked up to him with a shy smile. “I’m useless when it comes to knowing anything about cars.”

That’s how they both started talking. You watching him fix a couple spark plugs while talking about things. Getting to know each other a little. Like how you were helping Mary with her shop. “Ah, so you just moved here.” You nodded, “Mmm about a month. Have no clue where anything is and have no friends so…” you shrug. A breeze started as evening was setting in. Daryl hesitated before saying, “I could show you some local spots.” He bit the side of his thumb nail waiting for an answer. You had bit your bottom lip looking up at him and smiled, “Sounds like fun to me.”

He was worried for a second he messed up, “There’s a bar that everyone knows, real popular on Fridays.” You nodded while looking at him staring down at your watch seeing you had been talking for about a hour. It was getting late so you slowly started to walk backwards to your house. You smile with a glint in your eye, “Sounds like a Date… see you Friday!” You waved and all he could do was look on with wide eyes. Did you just- “Pick you up at 8!” He yelled. He was in slight disbelief at the out come. Had you been flirting with him the whole time?

You had handed him a tool before he could even ask. You had known how to do it all along and played stupid to talk with him. He smiled down as he closed his hood. ‘Oh you were trouble.’

When Friday came he was kicking himself. This was unlike him to go on dates. But he wouldn’t deny he liked you. You were also looking forward to a date for the first time in a while. Preferring it more than being tricked on to one with some guy your parents liked. Daryl probably didn’t fit that kind a guy they would. Oh but your kind definitely. Your Aunt watched you try on an outfit before deciding to go with a floral casual dress that went to your knees. She gave you a smug look and you only rolled your eyes. You had a long black jacket over you, knowing it was already cool outside.

Daryl knocked on the door and off you went in his truck to this bar. He was slightly nervous when he saw you dolled yourself up, and for him? He had lied to Merle where he was going and doing. He was desperately trying not to blow this, “Ya look pretty…” he had said it at a stop light looking over to you. It’s everything a girl wants to hear, and it sure made you smile.

When they got to the bar the bartender seemed confused to see Daryl with a girl. He was normally there with his brother. Mostly to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid he had noticed. “Well if it isn’t a Dixon, tell your brother he still owes me for the glass he broke.” Daryl cringed at the mention of his brother. You just simply took a seat on a stool. “What can I get you two.”

You had a few drinks you’ll admit. You tried a classic drink that the locals had. You were grossed out at the drink causing you and Daryl to laugh. He only had a drink with the need to drive you both home. You had tried to play pool but decided you were a little to inebriated at how many times you missed the ball entirely. You were standing in a corner of the bustling bar talking. You held a bow empty cup dying laughing at a story had told you about his childhood. Sometimes kids dumb actions, like jumping off a shed in a hero outfit, were just funny. You had lost a little balance at your laughing and place a hand onto Daryl’s chest. He only looked down to you putting a hand to your waist to steady you. You had tears of laughter in you eye, you fanning your face to no ruining your make up. He was definitely enjoying this more than he wanted to.

You had been at the bar for about 4 hours with Daryl. You now walked leaning into him in the parking lot. He had an arm around your shoulder leading you to the car door. He started the car and looked over to you, “Should have told me ya were a lightweight.” You gasped offendly, “Lightweight! I’ll have you know I’m just tipsy.” He looked at you questioningly humming. You relaxed into the car seat, “Ok, I’ll admit I haven’t done this in a while- might be a little rusty on the drinking game.”

You both continued to joke around until getting to the neighborhood. He back up in your drive way to later drive into his own. Him doing that thing with his arm as he back up. You bit your lip at the sight. When he parked and looked at you you spoke, “Thank you for this Daryl, I had fun.” He nodded, “Was my pleasure…” you had slowly moved closer crossing the middle seat. He looked down at your flushed face, mostly done by the alcohol. That liquid courage probably giving you the strength to grab him by the chin and slowly kiss him. He leaned into it grabbing your hip. You pulled back with a bashful smile,

“Same time next week?”

He had fully smiled at that, “Ya bet your sweet ass. Now get out of here miss ‘tipsy’.” You giggle wiggling your way out of the car. Waving goodbye with a stupid smile on your face. He felt his heart skip a beat, ‘oh he was real screwed…’

That night he even thought back to how you were looking at him on the way back. He had caught you leaned against the window with hooded eye. When he looked at you, you tried to fight a smile. Oh and how could he not think of the kiss. His hands dragged down his face at the thought.

This went on for a little over a month. You would see each other throughout the week but Fridays you would go out. Small touch’s and kisses here and there. It wasn’t until you ended up back at that bar that things changed. You were only 2 drinks in. You sat in a booth with Daryl. Head on his shoulder and hands intertwined under the table. You pulled away getting up, “I’m going to get another drink and you a beer. Then I’ll wipe your ass in a game of pool!” Daryl chuckled, “Let’s hope you can hit the ball with your cue this time.” You stuck out your tongue at him while walking to the bar. You had only been waiting for your drinks when a man slide up next to you.

“Whats a pretty thing like you doing with a Dixon? He blackmailing you?” The man held a sleazy smirk. You only look at him with disgust ignoring him. It was when he put his hand to your arm pulling you closer did you talk to him, “Hey back off!” The man’s grip tightened, “What you a hooker or something? Only way a Dixon could get some pipe is by paying for a slut.” You had yanked your arm from him, you falling back a little before landing against someone behind you. A arm rapping around you, you recognized it instantly, Daryl. His voice growling and rumbling against you, “Back off my girl.”

The man who was bothering you only rolled his eyes, “Maybe keep your slut on a leash-“ You had felt Daryl lean forward behind you before you even saw him sock the guy in the face. You had gasped and turned to push Daryl back from the guy. He stumbled and held his nose. You whispered to Daryl, “Ok it’s time to go…” You tried to push him closer to the door but the jackass decided to spit out another comment, “Ya let your bitch drag you away pussy!” You felt Daryl lean forward and resisted you leading him backwards but you spoke softly up to him, “Please…” His eyes briefly met yours. He looked back up to the guy who was probably drunk but, Daryl’s blood was boiling with rage. He relented at your plea and walked out the exit.

He was quiet as he walked back to the truck. Walking a little faster ahead of you. When he got into the drivers seat you had said his name but he wasn’t listening. He put the key in the ignition, turning it on but your hand rested onto his arm and you said his name again, “Daryl…”. He slumped a little and turned the car back off. He slowly turned to look at you. You scooted closer into him. You closed your hands around his face so he would look at you. You gave a small smile, “Thank you.” You gave him a quick peck before leaning back to look at him.

He signed and placed his forehead to yours talking a moment. He thought maybe he was gonna scary you off at the out burst. He whispered, “Hope I didn’t scare ya.” You chuckled shaking your head, “They opposite really. I was scared of that guy and then you came and I felt ok again.” He inhaled a breath before I closing his arms around you. He pulled you into him more and you rapped an arm around his back. You sat there for a moment before you spoke, “Soooo, Your girl huh?”

Daryl froze in place. Didn’t even register he said it in the moment. He pulled back from you, mouth agape, stuttering before he gave up at trying to say anything. You placed a hand into his hair playing with a strand of hair, “I’m your girl?” You had almost whispered it. Daryl cleared his throat, “Will you be?” You let out a breathy sigh,

“Yeah, thought you’d never ask.”

That is when you officially started dating. Sat in the truck, in the parking lot, making out for a good 10 minutes.

You were enjoying the new found established relationship. Over the next week was filled with your Aunt seeing you cuddle on the couch watching a movie. You had even managed to give him a small haircut in his bathroom, “Hmm, I think you would look good with long hair.” Sometime you would find yourself in Daryl’s room laying on his bed just talking when Merle was away.

Speaking of Merle he had later found out when at the bar that his baby brother started a fight over his girlfriend. He had thought nothing of it until he asked his brother if it was true. When it was confirmed he laid hurtful comments at him. ‘No one can love someone like us!’ ‘Like you really?’ It was a definite damage to his ego. But some of the things he said about you rubbed him the wrong way. It made him defensive, ‘She a good lay?’ ‘got you pussy whipped.’ They had yet to even cross that line.

You know understood why Daryl had not wanted you to met his brother at first. He made rude and sexually comments to you. Often either being sexist or racist any time near him. You mostly tried to say clear of him.

Then there came the drama that followed from your parents. Apparently your Aunt let it slip to your brother you were with her. He told your parents and now here you were getting a call from her shop. You picked up the business phone and before you could even spit out your prepared greeting you heard your father’s voice boom over the phone. “Now you listen to me little lady you’re coming back home!” You pause shocked. “Your little tantrum is done and you will do as you’re told!” You could hear your mother in the back telling him to calm down. You to in a breath and replied calmly, “Dad, I will do no such thing.”

He was yelling more. You had caught something about a wedding date and some name before your mother took the phone from him. “Honey, you need to come back home ok?” You really couldn’t understand why, “No Mama I like it here.” She went to go on, “We are just doing what we think is best for you. We just want you to be happy with a husband.” You had enough snapping at them for the first time, “You want what’s best for you. If you wanted me happy you would have listened to me! I’ll have you know with the time I’ve been gone I finally feel free. I even got a boyfriend!”

Your mother gasped, “In the town you’re in! What redneck white trash could you possibly find out there!” You were surprised at the way your mother spoke. But you were also mad at it. You angrily replied, “His name is Daryl Dixon! Fuck you! Never call me again!” You hung up seething. You had closed the shop a little early.

After the call from your parents you walked to the bar. The bartender seemed surprised seeing you without Daryl before asking, “Your usual?” You nodded with an appreciative smile. While waiting for the drink you noticed Daryl’s brother with a few other people. You ignored him deciding you would have the one drink and go home, not really in the mood to deal with Merle.

You had just finished your drink when you heard a commotion behind you. Merle and another were arguing. It was getting really heated. You had stood about ready to leave when the other guy threatened Merle, “I’ll kill you for this!” When you had turned Merle was smug looking and unaware of the knife being pulled from behind the man’s pants. You had yelled, “Merle!” In a panic you lobbed your glass at the man. It shattered over his head sending him to crumple to the side on a table. The knife slipping from his hand and landing in front of him. Merle looked down at the knife before looking up to where the glass came from, spotting you. You were shocked with your mouth open looking at the man holding his head in pain, before looking back to Merle. The few other men that were sitting with them getting up displeased.

Merle realizing he was out numbered started to run toward you. He had grabbed you by the arm and dragged you with him to the exit. The bartender yelled as you got dragged away. “Hey!” You had yelled back before the door closed, “Sorry Lawrence I’ll pay you back later!” Merle was still dragging you along to his motorcycle. The door had swung open and the angry men started to pursue you both. Merle had yelled at you when you pause to look at the door, “Get the fuck on!”

You had hopped over the seat and sat behind him. Not having a moment to hold on before he started to speed off. It wasn’t until he pulled into his driveway that you started telling him off.

Daryl had heard Merle’s motorcycle pull in but he wasn’t expecting to hear you yelling right after it. “Goddamn I’m already having a shit day!” When he walked out the front door to see you telling Merle off as he just sat there on his bike silently taking it. He had never seen his brother not throwing words back at someone. “Are you an idiot!” Not even that got a reaction from him. Daryl knew that would normally get replied by violence. It wasn’t until he spoke did you turn at his voice, “The hell is goin on?” Your anger soon crumpled into tears, you were overwhelmed and maybe a bit scared still body pumping with adrenaline. Daryl almost got whiplash at the sudden mood shift.

That didn’t stop him from hugging you as you started to cry. He shot a look to his brother who still sat on his bike. Merle looking weirded out at the sudden tears. "The hell you do ta her?!” Merle rubbed the back of his neck, "May have got into a bit of a fight at the bar with some folks. She kinda stopped me from being stabbed." He had felt you shaking in his grasp now. He knew you hated conflict, told him about the pit that would form in your stomach. But you stopping Merle from being stabbed? "How she do that?" Merle chuckled, "Threw her glass across the room! Knocked him clean on his sorry ass." He seemed almost impressed by you.

Daryl started leading you back toward your home. Daryl turning to yell back to his brother, "Whatever man piss off." He had gotten you into your house before you spoke, "My Aunt went on her Cabo trip with her book club friends. She'll be gone a week... stay?" He gulped, "If ya really want me to." You nodded, "I don't wanna be alone." He saw you were scared.

He lay next to you in your bed after you calmed down and ate dinner. "Want to talk bout it?" You moved closer to him leading him to put a arm over you. You sighed into him, "I was at the bar because I had a rough conversation with my parents. Somethings were said. Their the reason I moved here, to get away from. I saw Merle and then the knife- then all those men chased us." Your hand rose to pinch the bridge of your nose, "Just been a- a shit day." You move to look up to Daryl's blue eyes a smirk rising to your lips at the worried and tight look he was giving you. He relax a little at your attention. He dragged a hand up your arm to your face, "Merle seems to think your a badass now." He himself was a little proud to hear what you did. You grunted into his chest, "He'd better. Saved his dumbass."

You were talking for a while after that. Seeing the clock blinking 1am now. You were sleepy but enjoyed talking to him to much to fall asleep. Sleep was pulling at your eyes and a question that should have been a inside thought slipped out, "Why haven't we had sex yet?" Daryl was a little taken back but not to shocked at the question, he hummed, "Honestly not a clue, I like you to much to mess anything up." Maybe the tired feeling was making his lips a little loose to. He paused before continued, "I've only had meaningless sex. Nothing with feeling behind it." He smirked down to your hazy eyes, "Why? You tryin to get in my pants?" You chuckled adding a little shrug, "Perhaps. Take me out to dinner and we'll see how the night goes from there." That made Daryl's heart beat a little harder. Of course he has thought about it before just didn't know how to act on it with you. He held you a little tighter to him, goofy smile to his face, "Yes Ma'am."

Take you out to dinner he did. Nothing to fancy but by the end of that night you offered him to follow you inside. You were laughing while bumping backwards into things as you both kissed. You stripping buttons down his shirt when he paused face looking uncomfortable. You stopped at the look. He sighed squeezing his eyes tight. Reminding himself it was you. "Uh sorry, just forgot to mention- just look fer yourself..." You softly pulled the shirt down off of him. Revealing scars along his body.

You dragged a finger along one. You look up at him with round eyes. He looked away before saying, “M’ Daddy was a drunk.” You intake air and release it at the information. You leaned down and kissed the scar you touched. Everything turned slow from that point, more sensual. He rolled into you at a pace he never had before. He was used to chasing a feeling, getting it over with. But every time he would push into you he couldn’t help but love the groans you made. You sure loved the noises subconsciously coming out of him as well. You would move up into him. The slow motion had sent you crazy. Leading you to claw at him begging for more. He didn’t go faster but harder.

Your moans filled your bedroom. Daryl was sucking on your neck while rutting into you. He was huffing out air and grunting in exertion. The tight clench he felt around him damn near knocked the wind out of him. He had pulled out and rested his head on your chest while trying to catch his breath. You dug your hands into the back of his hair.

That night lead to many more like it. Which is what lead you to the current situation going on. You were in the bathroom staring at a positive pregnancy test. Not just one but three. You sat on the floor contemplating, 'How did this happen?' 'Do I keep it?' 'How do I tell Daryl?' You and Daryl had been only officially dating for 3 and a half months now. The first test had you in denial, the second had you begging. The third had you close to acceptance. At least you weren't ugly crying anymore. Before anything you needed to tell Daryl. So you called him over saying it was urgent.

He opened the front door and jogged to your room seeing you crisscross on the bed looking distraught. He kneeled down at the front of your bed looking up at you. You took in a nervous breath before talking, "If you need a moment after I tell you this, its okay, I wont be mad." Daryl's heart dropped to his ass, 'were you about to end stuff between them?'

"I'm pregnant."

His eyes slowly widened and he looked down to your stomach then back to you. He abruptly stood up then paused again. His mind moving a mile a minute but also not at all. The one thing to click was "A father? ME?' He slowly walked out the room. You sat there with tears burning in your eyes watching him leave the room. He paced back and forth hand running into his hair. The fight or flight in him was telling him to run, he was overwhelmed. Then he heard a small sniffle come from the room he had just come from. That stopped him in his tracks. He thinks he loves you. You both hadn't gotten to saying it out loud to each other. He didn't know what love felt like but this was what he imagined it to be. He hated to see you cry. Made him feel like maybe he would to if he didn't fix your tears. When he heard you he slowly made his way back into the room. Realizing you were most likely as terrifies as him, more so even.

You felt his arms around you making you cry harder. You had run the possibility of him leaving in your mind. Fully aware of his lack of a good father in his life. When you pulled away to look at him he also had tears going down his face. It was the first you have seen him cry. You had now put your arms around his middle and pulled him down to now lay on top of you. You had a tight hold on him and he you. You both calmed down and you knew he wasn't leaving, then he also whispered into you, "I've got ya. Both of ya."

It was rough that first day. It didn't feel real. You told Daryl how you were going to make a appointment in the morning. You asked if he was wanting to go with. He had slowly nodded deep in thought. You had said they could talk about everything in time.

You both had time.

You had an appointment in a week, the receptionist suggesting you go and buy prenatal vitamins before then. You also broke the news to your Aunt, she was supportive. Saying she would love to help with anything you needed. You and her walked a few blocks to a small store connected to a pharmacy. You looked to the shelves of pills. You held two big bottles, different brands, of prenatal vitamins. The sound of screaming alerting you to a disturbance in the store. You turn to your Aunt with a questioning look. You both peaked around the aisle spotting someone on top of the other, a fight perhaps?

Gun shots to your left making you jump. You turned seeing a man backing down the aisle beside you shooting rounds into a woman approaching him. You witnessed the women not even flinch to each shot. Your Aunt pulled you by the shoulder backwards down the lane. Another person who was pale with foggy eyes rounded the corner. It grabbed your Aunt and before you could blink took a bit out of her neck. You watch in horror as she dropped to the ground with that person on top of her. Blood from her throat being ripped out had splattered across your face. You screamed terrified. The lady the man had been shooting at now turned the corner from the aisle they were in. Now she was covered in blood though. You look down to your Aunt who had stopped moving. The thing taking notice of you. So you ran.

You had just seen your Aunt being brutally murdered. You ran out the door of the building pill bottle still in hand. You saw people running, cars crashing. Others getting hit by cars. It was a nightmare but you felt like you need to keep moving. You ran down the road back to your house. Dodging anyone covered in blood.

Daryl had kicked the door open to your house. Merle was packing stuff into the truck across the road. He screamed your name looking for you anywhere. When he couldn’t find you he ran back to the car, “I can’t find her!” Merle rolled his eyes, “Forget about her! She probably died someone where let’s get are asses out of here!” Daryl yelled back at him with rage. “THE IS NO WAY IN HELL IM GOING ANYWHERE WITHOUT HER!” The yell had shocked Merle. Daryl had never talk to him like that. “We can find you a new lady we gotta go!” Then Daryl did something more unexpected. He shoved Merle back. He had hit the side door of the truck, Merle was about to hit him when he yelled, “She’s pregnant man!”

Daryl had a panicked and pained expression on his face. He started to stuttered out, “I-I gotta go look—“ The sound of his name being yelled from a distance made him turn in the direction. He was relieved to see you running full speed toward him. His relief flooded by panic at the sight of blood painted across your face and cloths. He ran the rest of the way to you. Crashing into each other in an embrace. You struggled to regain breath after how long you were running. Daryl had held your face seeing were the blood came from. Tears forming in your eyes, “It’s not mine…” Merle’s voice cutting in, “Come on love birds we gotta go now!”

Daryl lead you to the car opening the door and making you jump in, “Stay here I’m going to get some of your stuff.” He ran off back to your house and Merle started tightening the cables to the bike in the back. He sat down in the driver seat and looked over to you. You had two pill bottles on your lap and you stared at your hands shaking. He then noticed all the blood on you and decided to keep his mouth shut. Daryl ran back throwing a duffel bag in the back before going to the passenger side. You sat in the middle still a little stunned. Like a bird who flew into glass.

Daryl’s arm went behind your head resting on your shoulders. You leaned into him. Merle had started to peel out of the space driving off into a direction. You heard little of the talk between them. Choosing a quarry they know to get away from the towns and head into the woods.

All you knew was the world was changing.

Part 2

Feedback welcomed and requests open!

Sorry for mistakes I to eepy its 2 am. I'm dyslexic and struggle with it and normally reread 10 times to fix mistakes but this is so long I wanna go to bed.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

This is interesting- it’s a very old 1795 southern style home in Thomson, Georgia, 4bds. 2ba., for $460K. However the home was sold for $330K in 5/22, and they stripped it down, remodeled in record time, and put it back on the market. So, we will be looking at the before & after photos. 

The exterior was already nice, but they painted the door blue and put out some matching chairs just to break up all the white.

Before: Blue foyer w/wainscoting.

After: Off-white shiplap. The beautiful ornate molding is gone, too. 

Stairs- painted to match the foyer, carpet runner removed, and newel posts painted white.

They did the opposite to the sitting room. It was a creamy color, and they made it blue. The wood moldings and windows have been painted white.

The kitchen redo- stripped the wallpaper, painted the walls white; painted the cabinets dark blueish gray; new appliances; open shelving; new tile floor; and I like how they moved the fridge and made a larger fireplace (should’ve given it a hearth, though).

Wallpaper stripped, pale green paint, and a yellow fireplace surround turned it into a bd.

Tile replaced by shiplap. Looks like they flattened the wall and put in a small pedestal sink. Bath is the same, but white, new mirror, new floor tile. Baby diarrhea color on the wall.

New floors, blue paint, new fireplace insert.

Pretty latticed porch remained.

They laid a cement parking pad.

This is how the grounds look now.

They removed all this from the gardens. There are many beautiful rooms they don’t show renovated, so if you want to see them, click on the link below:

http://tours.stevebphoto.com/public/vtour/display/1604788?a=1#!/nav/gallery

Listing:

https://www.movoto.com/thomson-ga/211-milledge-st-thomson-ga-30824/pid_zelt8e5mbh/

[beardedmrbean]

Newly released body camera footage contradicts claims made by New York City Councilman Yusef Salaam, one of the infamous Central Park Five, regarding a recent traffic stop.

The incident, which occurred Friday night, prompted Salaam to accuse the police of racial bias and lack of transparency.

Salaam, who was on his way to dinner with his wife and four children, was pulled over for having overly tinted windows. The brief encounter, captured on the officer’s body cam, lasted less than a minute and concluded with Salaam being released after identifying himself as a councilman.

Despite the video evidence indicating a routine traffic stop, Salaam criticized the officer for not explicitly stating the reason for the stop.

“This experience only amplified the importance of transparency for all police investigative stops, because the lack of transparency allows racial profiling and unconstitutional stops of all types to occur and often go underreported,” Salaam, a Democrat, said in a statement.

NYC Mayor Eric Adams commended the officers involved, emphasizing the professionalism, courtesy and effective communication displayed during the incident. The New York Police Department later confirmed that Salaam was also in violation of state law for driving a vehicle with out-of-state plates and excessively tinted windows.

The police stop in New York City on Friday casts a renewed light on a police transparency bill, called the How Many Stops Act, a proposal Salaam supports that City Council members are set to vote on Tuesday to override Mayor Eric Adams’ veto.

It would require officers to publicly report on all investigative stops, including relatively low-level encounters with civilians. Despite being invited for a ride-along by Adams to showcase the bill’s potential negative impact, Salaam declined, citing the recent traffic stop as a reason.

Officers are not required to give a reason for a stop, but Salaam said the police should have done so voluntarily.

City Council Member Sandy Nurse said she was on a video call with Salaam and other people when he was pulled over. Nurse said she heard Salaam ask the officer for the reason for the stop, and none was given.

Marc Claxton, a former NYPD detective and director of the Black Law Enforcement Alliance, echoed the mayor’s sentiments, praising the professionalism exhibited by both the officer and Salaam during the encounter. Claxton emphasized that in the absence of the ongoing legislative context, the incident would likely have gone unnoticed, resembling routine stops that occur regularly in the city.

The New York City Benevolent Association president, Patrick Hender, called for an apology from Salaam and other elected officials who had criticized the police officers involved. Claxton, however, expressed doubt that an apology would be forthcoming, stating that the incident was a routine and professional interaction with no grounds for personal grievances.

In an interview, Salaam denied using his title to evade a ticket. He explained that he was in the process of transferring the registration of his vehicle from Georgia to New York. Despite moving back to New York in December 2022, Salaam still maintains ownership of a home in Georgia and has family residing there.

He expressed unawareness that his tinted windows, permissible in Georgia, violated regulations in New York City. Salaam asserted that had he received a ticket or warning, he would have promptly addressed the issue and had the tinted windows replaced.

[yeahcurrahhe-e]

𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 𝐒𝐎 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐋𝐘

〚 𝐄. 𝐑𝐎𝐄 〛

𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐊 -> 𝘿𝘼𝙔 𝙏HREE

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ➛ language, mentions of death/blood

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓 ➛ anonymous: Can I request happy prompt sixteen with Eugene Roe please? — prompt used: “you’re not alone, you never were”

𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐊 -> 𝘿𝘼𝙔 𝙏HREE -> hurt/comfort fic; @hbowardaily

𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐆𝐎 𝐓𝐎 𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄.

There would be the shop windows, their meticulous displays of dresses with colors of a blossomed garden. The only poppy red would be on the sewn fabric, not smeared roughly across her palms. The cobblestone streets would be none the wiser to a counterpart that had been upheaved by foreign artillery. The air would be clear, an orchestra of organic noises, children’s laughter, and radios arching over intact buildings.

Years ago, with a stroke of a pen on an enlistment form and an assignment to Georgia, that childhood fantasy of manicured dresses and serenity was replaced by an existence of M-1’s and discord.

She was in France now, sure, but it was a pit of meaningless suffering and a wasteland of humanity’s worst actions.

There was a patchwork of the previous civilians belongings among the cracked motor shells and bullet casings; splayed open Bibles, cast-over bicycles, watches with clock faces eternally frozen, children’s toys, tarnished jewelry. That morning, she had stepped over a fractured family portrait partially obscured by a spent machine gun magazine, their broad smiles nearly foreign to her eye; when had been the last time she had seen a genuine smile?

And as she does inventory for Easy’s measly accumulation of medical supplies, the pulse of evening wind stirring the white flaps of the medic tent and her grimy hair, she peered through the candlelight at her fellow medic.

The one with soulful-eyes and grim mumbles, Eugene Roe. He always had a meticulous stare set on his handsome face from the balmy day at Toccoa when an introduction was composed by their superior, Richard Winters. The Cajun boy had a personality of a fortress; aloof and barricaded on his facade and rarely exhibited what resided beneath the obstacles. He was strict to his obligations as a medic and training requirements; if their captain ever told the poor boy to jump, he’d ask ‘how high?’. He’d mind the inventory ten times over if it secured a silence between the pair of them in the newborn evening hours. There had been enough awkward one-sided conversations to embarrass her into a grave.

It was the night of the rescheduled jump into Normandy that he relented to holding a conversation with her, for once dismissing the guards of his mind. Their discussions that night drifted into murmurs of youth, who they were beyond their OD’s and medic bands. After that, it was an exceptional circumstance to see one without the other.

Now, she wondered amidst a rummage through gauze: when was the last time I saw you smile?

“We’re short a couple sulfa packs,” she divulged to snip away at the thread of silence that had weaved between them. She propped her elbows onto the wooden rim of the cargo box, anticipating one of his distinctive responses, which could gamble between a hushed grunt or an exhaled ‘hm’.

“We short on everythin’,” the brusque response had her brow bowing, peering at him in the candle’s arc of gold with incredulity, “Don’t need anyone tellin’ me the obvious.”

Y/N shifted to face him more, almost amused at his words to, regarding how his knuckles were pulsed white as he clenched his clipboard and its accompanying pen.

“Part of inventory is stating the obvious; that’s how you re-supply,” she attempted to not wade into his tides of frustration that pooled through the grass between them, forcing a composed tone.

“Any re-supply takes months since we gotta rely on some alcoholic superior in Washington to get off his ass and give a fuck about us,” Eugene decided to douse himself through and through with the tides, his fingernails drawing grooves into the flimsy clipboard, “We ain’t even reach a week after resupply and we already scrounging for supplies.”

Y/N casts a fleeting glance down to her own clipboard, to the dashes of ‘X’ down her scribbled checklist, crimson indications of everything they were either low on or entirely dry of. There were too many.

“I’ll talk to Winters—” she commenced stiffly, fingers a perturbed song against the battered wood of the box beneath her forearms, the song a byproduct of the symphony of tension that crescendoed between them. She knew they couldn’t be getting so cynical — too many lives depended on them.

“It ain’t enough,” he furiously halted her approach towards a rushed resolution. He cast the clipboard to the table, a raucous display of something that has smoldered since D-Day, “And you know it ain’t ever will be.”

Y/N resigned herself to the palpable silence beneath the fabric arch of the tent, head bowed and fingers in a haphazard diversion with the frayed splinters of wood; any words she could have supplied would only poke at his frustration.

As medics, a portion of their basic training had been a borderline lecture on how to be the Earth-equivalent of a saint. Smile always, reassure always, cure always — the mantra of their CO was sewn into her brain, the threads dangling down to her fingers as they’d apply a bandage, rip open a sulfa pack, plug a shredded artery, then they’d dangle to the corners of her mouth, draw away the tremble and weave out a smile. That was all before the realization that Washington left them high and dry the moment their boots hit French soil. They were alone to fight a war for men who gave more of a shit about what was for dinner than if the boys they sent off could be saved.

“We’re alone,” they seemed to always be on the same wavelength, falling into pace with the other’s thoughts without having to saturate the air with the verbalizations of them; Eugene knew her thoughts were living at a mile a minute, the separation of cot between them no obstacle for sensing the grim realization she couldn’t speak into existence as it deviated in her eyes.

As months went by in their war parade through Europe, each day marked by a relentless carousel with Death and all his friends (implosions, crossfire, blood, screams, the monotonous clack of a typewriter as it typed something resembling a bullshit narrative of someone’s son dying a hero), Eugene Roe had decided two things: 1) there was never stepping off that carousel, Death’s corrupted and inky hands would always be there to snatch him back, hardwired to always seek out a soul as he could never regain his own, and he would just keep spinning around on once consecrated ground, and 2) being a medic was the loneliest job in the world.

Even if I have you, he thought, the stern thorn that darkened his eyes subtly loses its edge as he watched her dutifully resume her inventory of their mockery of medical supply stock. His previous thought halted with the ferocity of an abrupt record scratch, do I have you?

Their similarity with duty in the war effort is what had drawn them towards the other, plucking them from distinct solar systems and into the other’s orbit, but Eugene is certain that beyond the grassy knolls of France and the 506th — they would roam about planes of existence of different hues, never spilling into the other.

He had pictured her outside of timeworn OD’s, dirt-creased nails, hair curled with desiccated blood — imagined how she would be, untouched by war in her hue of gold. She’d still be a nurse, but her hands would never be marred by the trauma of having to pin spilling intestines back into an impossible space, her ears would never know the cries of desperate boys in pain.

His imagination had encountered her in a conscious-painted hospital ward, golden threads of morning sun winding around the agape shades, and it smells and looks entirely clean. She would be standing at the right side of a cot of a patient — a young man similarly pardoned by the wrath of Ares. It was a reassuring little scene from his mind’s ingenuity; she would be laughing, her smile not the thin one she’d bear on for the sake of dying men. Her hair would be the sun's muse, glistening in a thousand shades of y/h/c that manifested new masterpieces each moment in the warm summer air. Not a streak of crimson amidst its meticulously rolled ringlets. She’d be happy.

And he felt that his own fate was to be lonely and forgettable. Something of a wayfaring ghost that ambled through the monotony of life — drowning in his own hue of grey.

There’s a hand on his forearm now, and it relinquishes the picture back to being a sacrosanct happiness. The nurse who smiled with heartfelt pleasure faded into the one who now drew on a smile with a jaded soul.

She was fleetingly relieved when he didn’t turn away or attempt to scramble from her hold.

“You’re not alone, you never were, Eugene,” she then murmured sternly; have him know that it was not his lot in life to be so lonely.

The dedication of a steadfast belief in her murmur seemed not genuine in the war path towards solitude his mind was on, but some corner of an unconquered surface in his brain fruited some acceptance.

So, he flexed his wrist to clasp her own, and squeezed: thank you.

And perhaps one day he could imagine himself by her side in that sunny hospital ward, laughing….happy.

[sunriseriverrvparkcampground]

RV Maintenance Tips for Traveling Through Crawfordville, Georgia

Traveling through Georgia, especially near areas like Crawfordville, offers picturesque views, tranquil surroundings, and the ultimate escape into nature. As you journey, it’s crucial to ensure your RV is in tip-top shape. Whether you’re staying at Sunrise River RV Park or passing through RV parks near Augusta, GA, maintaining your RV is vital to ensure a smooth and enjoyable trip. Below are some essential RV maintenance tips to keep in mind as you explore this beautiful region.

1. Regular Tire Inspections

One of the most critical aspects of RV maintenance is tire care. Before heading to any RV park near Augusta, GA, check your tires for proper inflation, wear, and tear. The varied terrain in Georgia, from highways to forest trails, can strain your tires. Ensure they are inflated to the manufacturer's recommended pressure. Also, inspect the treads for any signs of excessive wear, and replace tires if necessary. A blowout on the road can be dangerous and inconvenient, so this simple check can save you a lot of trouble.

2. Check and Maintain Brakes

Given the hilly landscapes around Crawfordville, ensuring your brakes are in excellent condition is essential. Regularly check the brake pads, rotors, and fluid levels. If you notice any squeaking, grinding, or decreased braking efficiency, get them serviced immediately. The peace of mind knowing your brakes are functioning correctly will make your travel through Georgia’s scenic routes much safer.

3. Inspect Roof Seals and Vents

Georgia’s climate can be unpredictable, with sudden rain showers even in sunny conditions. To avoid leaks and water damage, inspect the seals around your RV's roof, windows, and vents. Look for any cracks or deteriorated seals, and reapply sealant if necessary. This small step can prevent costly repairs later, especially if you're planning to stay at Sunrise River RV Park, where the natural surroundings are best enjoyed dry and leak-free!

4. Keep the Electrical System in Check

Your RV’s electrical system is its lifeline, powering everything from the refrigerator to the air conditioning. Before you park at any RV park near Augusta, GA, inspect your batteries, wires, and connections. Make sure your batteries are fully charged and in good condition. Test your generator to ensure it’s functioning properly, especially if you plan to camp in more remote areas like Crawfordville. Keeping a multimeter handy can help you diagnose any electrical issues that may arise on the road.

5. Monitor Your Water System

Georgia’s humidity and temperatures can lead to unique challenges for your RV’s water system. Regularly check your freshwater, gray, and black water tanks for leaks or signs of wear. Ensure that the hoses are in good condition and securely connected. If you plan on staying at Sunrise River RV Park, you’ll appreciate having a fully functional water system for showers and kitchen use. Additionally, consider investing in a water pressure regulator to prevent high-pressure water at certain campsites from damaging your RV’s plumbing.

6. Keep Your HVAC System Clean

The summer heat in Georgia can be intense, making your RV’s HVAC system essential for comfort. Clean the filters regularly and ensure that the air conditioning unit is functioning properly. If you're visiting Crawfordville during the warmer months, you’ll want to stay cool and comfortable after a day of exploring. Routine maintenance of your HVAC system will keep you and your family comfortable throughout your journey.

7. Stock Up on Essential Supplies

Crawfordville offers natural beauty and serenity, but it’s also essential to be prepared for any situation. Ensure you have a well-stocked toolkit that includes wrenches, screwdrivers, pliers, and any other tools specific to your RV model. Carry spare fuses, bulbs, and essential fluids like oil, coolant, and windshield washer fluid. Being prepared will ensure that minor issues don’t escalate into significant problems, allowing you to enjoy your stay at any RV park near Augusta, GA, or beyond.

8. Plan for Waste Disposal

Responsible waste management is vital for the environment and the longevity of your RV’s sanitation system. Before arriving at Sunrise River RV Park, familiarize yourself with the park's waste disposal facilities. Ensure that your black and gray water tanks are emptied and clean. Carry appropriate chemicals to treat your tanks, reducing odors and buildup. Keeping your waste management system in top shape ensures a pleasant experience for you and your fellow campers.

9. Check Your Propane System

Propane is essential for cooking, heating, and refrigeration in many RVs. Before embarking on your journey through Georgia, inspect your propane tanks and lines for leaks. Make sure your tanks are securely mounted and that your regulator is functioning correctly. It’s also wise to keep a carbon monoxide detector in your RV for safety. Regularly inspecting your propane system will allow you to enjoy meals and hot showers without worry during your stay.

10. Protect Against Pests

Crawfordville, with its lush landscapes and natural beauty, can also be a haven for insects and small animals. To protect your RV from unwanted guests, seal any gaps or cracks where pests might enter. Regularly clean your RV’s interior, removing food crumbs and trash that could attract pests. If you’re staying at Sunrise River RV Park, you’ll want to focus on the natural beauty of the area, not on dealing with ants or mice inside your RV!

11. Keep Your RV Clean

Traveling through Georgia can expose your RV to dust, dirt, and debris. Regularly wash your RV to maintain its appearance and protect its exterior from damage. Pay special attention to the undercarriage, especially after traveling on dirt roads or through muddy areas. Cleaning your RV not only keeps it looking good but also helps prevent rust and corrosion, ensuring it stays in excellent condition for years to come.

12. Stay Informed About Local Road Conditions

As you travel through Georgia, staying informed about local road conditions can help you avoid unexpected delays or hazards. Check weather forecasts and road reports, especially during the rainy season, when roads can become slick or flooded. Knowing the conditions ahead of time allows you to plan your route and adjust your driving to ensure a safe journey to Sunrise River RV Park or any other destination in the area.

Conclusion

Maintaining your RV is essential to ensure a safe, comfortable, and enjoyable journey through Crawfordville and the surrounding areas of Georgia. Whether you’re heading to Sunrise River RV Park or exploring RV parks near Augusta, GA, following these maintenance tips will keep your RV in top condition, allowing you to focus on the adventure ahead.

From regular tire checks to ensuring your water and electrical systems are functioning properly, taking the time to maintain your RV will enhance your travel experience. By being proactive with your maintenance routine, you can enjoy the natural beauty and serene landscapes of Crawfordville, Georgia, without worry. Safe travels!

[hauntedhookah]

travel notes

Athens: Athens was not incredibly memorable. I thought of it as a city to live in. 

Naxos: in naxos my hair was curly again, i wore a 2 piece los angeles apparel set and walked around an infuencer's backdrop for 5-10 minutes at a time. i met mormon and canadian assorted girls on the beach, i followed one of them to the top of the hill at the windiest sunset since Albany Bulb winters. in another part of naxos i visited a bustling beachside bar alone one night after a martini at a neighboring beachside restaurant. the bartender was curious about how alone i was, he liked me. i, drunk, was likeable in my giant skirt and silk blouse. i left silently

Santorini: Santorini was an existential crisis. The room I stayed in during the last two days was Peace embodied. Not much else mattered, and the window view of the caldera from the mezannine cannot be captured in any photograph

Crete: in crete i waded through the thigh-deep water, my silver canon tied firmly around my wrist. i marveled at the quite silence of the hotel, at night i went out to sit in the sand. i swam in crete, i sat and read deborah adele's book in crete. i felt lonely and utterly bored in crete. i loved that everyone was allowed to look the way they wanted as they walked aimlessly from one end of the beach to the other-- no one was hiding anything from sight. no body was unwelcome, all bodies were represented. most were burned, even mine got close. in crete we remembered my grandfather and dreamed up the paths he took through the island. in crete we traveled to the pink sand beach, where i hope to have learned a valuable lesson about Wanting What You Don't Have, and Replacing A Feeling of Lack with An Object.

Austria: in Austria we stayed at a hotel with a winding staircase and ate a continental breakfast in that odd room, hushed voices and european stares. Though I care not for the history, for the first time since the start of the trip, I felt good. I felt open to new experience and full of wonder. i kept repeating to myself over the smallest novelties, "fascinating", and stepped out of the smoke-filled echo chamber of the hotel alleyway every day with a sense of calm preparedness. We walked to a big gothic church and that was beautiful, I'll admit. The gargoyles looked friendly against blue sky and in sunlight. 

Armenia: in armenia one of the first nights i spoke to a million people at the new trendy russian bar, of course after harassing the russian bartenders for not speaking armenian. first dea and aleen, then kristik's group of russian repats, then the diaspora mix at the round table and later still walking towards polygraph with Mushegh and his talkative friend who's name i forgot.  it was a marvelous night of speaking in all languages, i enjoyed it very much after weeks of no social interaction. another one of those nights we visited an exhibit in an underground stone cave, spoke to a kind man nextdoor about the power of diaspora contribution to armenia and he gifted us handmade soap. we met kristik's friends on Cascade around midnight and i learned so many different armenian folk dances. we danced around the fountain until we were sweating and tired at 3am, it was marvelous. many full, endless nights full of conversation. so much more social than anything in the US

Georgia: in georgia i disliked the folks. on the second day I walked up the hill, stopping for 2 individual khinkali, and heading up through the forest to the waterfall. I climbed down again, now through sulfur smelling rivers to the baths. I decided to head home as my phone died and stopped by the first place i see to charge it in order to get home-- a little wine bar. I end up staying there from 8pm-3am with ilia, one of the bar's founders. we talked about everything, he had armenian words and when i tried to pronounce georgian ones he was impressed. i haven't had that much wine possibly ever. what a lovely way to get drunk. and what a lovely way to realize after days of lonliness that connection is always out there, especially when you seek it the least. 

[thornfield13713]

Okay. Since Georgia already knows this, I'm headcanoning this as a deliberate trip to deal with the McDonough situation, only to find things have moved faster than she expected. She brought Hancock along because the plan was just to get McDonough alone and offer a deal - answers to a few questions about what happened to the real McDonough, when he was replaced and whether he was just killed or dragged back to the Institute for the FEV trials, in exchange for getting to leave the Commonwealth peacefully via the Railroad, on the grounds that...loathsome as what he has done may be, he was still a slave when he did it, acting under the orders of people who would kill him if he disobeyed, and thus his actual culpability is an open question.

...looks like that plan just went out of the window, though. No way they're getting McDonough out quietly after all this. But the plan, at this point, is still to get answers first and foremost - without the offer of passage out of the Commonwealth, a lot of their leverage is lost, but a public trial might do the same job, with the added bonus of providing a counter-narrative to the vilification of ghouls in Diamond City, if they can very publicly establish that as having been part of the Institute's agenda. Again, the basis for legal culpability is a bit shaky, but that's another reason why Georgia would rather have this out at trial - that argument can at least be aired publicly. Though the attempted murder of Danny Sullivan has no such excuse.

[whump-card]

Sunless Lives: Arc 2

Welcome to Arc 2! In this arc, there’s a very sloppy action scene! The team is captured, and Simon makes a bold move to save them. From there, things take an unexpected turn.

Please note: This arc is significantly darker than the first one, and the story will continue to get darker from here. The first arc has a happy ending on purpose, you can stop reading there if you prefer. There will eventually - eventually - be a positive ending for good, but it’s a long way off >:)

Tap out here if you don’t want to read about: NSFWhump, carewhumper, whumper and whumpee in a romantic relationship.

Let me know if you want on/off the taglist!

~~~

Sunless Lives Part 11: I Can’t Hear You

~2030 words

CW: kidnapping, knife injury, threat of execution, caretaker whump

First, Previous, Next, Masterlist

~~~

“Team Isles, move to position delta. Breach front entrance when ready." The voice of Simon McKenna came through clear and calm into Matthew Beck’s earpiece, giving him a swell of confidence. They had this bust in the bag.

Four VIU teams surrounded the small conference center. According to their intel, inside were half a dozen vampires, and at least one human captive. The VIU’s goal that night was to take them all into custody, alive.

Captain Isles counted down silently with his fingers, the rest of his team watching him closely. When he indicated zero, he and Gina Ruiz pushed open the front doors and stepped into the reception room, sweeping the area with their guns drawn. Simon watched through their body cameras, his eyes scanning every detail.

“No guards,” he observed, “That’s unusual. Proceed with caution.”

Isles waved the rest of the team inside. Devon Barre and Matthew entered, carrying a small battering ram, then Amber Wynn walking backwards to guard the rear. Once the men had set down the ram, Isles signaled his orders: Gina went left, into a coat room, while Matthew went into the bathrooms on the right. Devon checked behind the reception desk. No one made a sound.

“We need a visual on the conference hall,” Simon’s voice came through again, “It’s an old building, see if the door has a keyhole.”

Isles moved forward to the door to the hall, and knelt. Unfortunately the door handle and lock had been replaced with a modern set at some point. He pointed his body camera at it.

“I see,” said Simon, “Hold.”

Simon switched channels to be able to talk to the coordinator of the team moving in through the back of the building. All the coordinators were in the same room, but everyone wore headsets. It was easier to talk to her this way.

“Green, got a visual?”

“Negative, McKenna.”

“Let me know if you do.”

The lead coordinator, Senior Agent Georgia Dune, cut in on all channels.

“We can't get a visual. Windows are blocked, doors are solid. I trust our intel, but we won’t know for sure until we breach. Are either of the doors unlocked?”

Simon watched the monitor as Isles reached out to ever-so-gently turn the door handle. It didn’t budge.

“Negative for south entrance,” Simon rattled off.

“Negative for north entrance,” echoed Green.

Isles’ team reconvened in the center of the reception, indicating their search areas were clear.

“All teams, prepare to breach the hall,” Dune announced, “Isles, Harper, on mark one. Gould, Williams, on mark two.”

Gina and Matthew picked up the battering ram and posed in front of the door. Their blood ran hot in anticipation of the coming fight. They exchanged a confident glance.

“Team Isles in position,” Simon reported. The other coordinators recited the same.

Dune counted down to, “Go!” and Gina and Matthew bashed open the door. The team flooded inside, weapons drawn, and… the room was empty. As if through a mirror, they saw Harper’s team on the other end of the hall doing the exact same.

Simon stood up from his seat.

“Get out of there, now!” he shouted.

But it was too late.

Figures in gas masks and body armor stepped out from behind the doors, slamming them shut and tossing gas canisters at the two teams’ feet. Simon watched it happen within a split second before the cameras’ views were overcome by white vapor. Shots came through his headset, compressed and gritty.

“Shots fired! Team Isles, talk to me, what’s happening?” Simon demanded.

Dune was already calling for backup on another channel. She switched back.

“Gould, Williams, do not breach, I repeat, do not breach. Spread out and surround the building, help is on the way. Don’t let them leave.”

Simon sat and spun around in his chair to address her directly.

“They don’t have gas masks in the truck, do they?” he asked.

Dune shooker her head gravely.

“Keep trying your team, McKenna.”

Simon spun back, frantically upping his volume.

“Can anyone read me? Captain Isles, are you there? Agent Beck?... Matthew?”

The  foggy monitors went dark. Cold dread crawled up from Simon’s stomach into his throat.

“Ma’am, we’ve lost Harper’s visuals,” Green reported.

“Isles too,” said Simon faintly.

Dune paced the communications room.

“I don’t know what their plan is,” she said, “They’re surrounded, they can’t leave. Backup’s eight minutes out.”

Eight minutes. Eight minutes of Simon and Green fruitlessly radioing their teams, begging for a response. None came. Backup arrived and burst into the building, outfitted with guns and gas masks. They found the conference hall empty, with no trace of the agents or whoever took them - that is, until they found a trapdoor in the floor, leading to an old concrete tunnel. Simon and Green watched, utterly rapt as the agents swarmed through the tunnel, following it for several minutes until it came up under an abandoned church. Body cameras and guns swept over cracked pews and overgrown tiles. They moved outside to an empty street. Simon’s brain refused to process what he was seeing. This couldn’t be real. Everything had been going fine. He was just talking to them, and now… He jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“McKenna, Green,” Senior Agent Dune said, her voice strong and steady, with a perfectly professional amount of empathy, “Your teams have been captured by vampires. You’re no longer working this case, it’ll be handed over to agent recovery.” She took off Simon’s headset and leaned down to look him in the eye.

“Do you understand?”

Simon nodded.

“Yes ma’am,” he said, forcing the words out with too much air.

She straightened, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Go to… Meeting room 205. Wait there to be debriefed.”

Simon struggled to his feet, his body feeling like it weighed a thousand pounds.

“Yes ma’am,” he whispered.

~~~

The first thing Matthew became aware of was the gag in his mouth. It was rough cotton, and had left his mouth and throat horribly dry. Then, the restriction; he could wiggle his fingers, but the rest of him awas bound tightly, trussed up and down from his chest to his ankles, with his arms behind him. He lay on his stomach in the dark. He couldn’t move more than that for a little while; his body felt strangely detached, and his thoughts horribly slow. After what felt like ages, he returned to some amount of coherence. They’d been on a mission… They’d been ambushed, both teams. He needed to know everyone was alright.

Luckily, it’s not that hard to make noise through a gag. He made an inquiring “Hungg?” and was met with an angry “Uck!” that was definitely Gina. Through some more grunts and grumbles, he identified that he was surrounded by his own team - minus Simon, thank God - and Captain Harper’s team, who he couldn’t pinpoint by individual voice quite as easily but he knew there was no other possibility.

Simon. What must he be thinking right now? He was probably just as scared as Matthew was. Matthew felt his heart thumping against the ropes and the panic building low in his stomach. He wiggled over and pressed his shoulder against the person directly next to him - Amber. She returned the pressure, providing some small comfort.

The room was suddenly illuminated as a door swept open with a bang, letting in light from somewhere beyond. Two people entered: a tall, thin man with a patchy beard, carrying a large box, and a short woman in a dark blue pantsuit with a veil over her face - an odd outfit combination, but it wasn’t like Matthew was about to make any quippy remarks; he and rest of the agents lay silent, frozen in fear. Vampires. The woman flicked a light switch and now Matthew could better see that, besides the ten agents tied up on the floor, there was a table and two chairs in the room. The room itself looked like some kind of basement, with concrete walls, and exposed beams, wires, and pipes overhead, and no windows.

The woman sat in one of the chairs. She had an elegant air to her; she crossed her legs and sat up ramrod straight. Matthew could swear he felt her gaze on him through the lace that shrouded her. Meanwhile, the tall man produced a laptop, microphone, and accompanying wires from the large box, setting them on the table and plugging everything in. Lastly the man pulled out a camera, setting it up on a tripod and connecting it to the computer. Matthew watched them closely. This couldn’t bode well.

The man tapped out something on the computer and handed the woman the microphone.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he said in a throaty voice.

The woman cleared her throat with a little “A-hem!” and clicked the mic on.

“This is Mrs Peacock, code 01495. Please direct my call to Director Yarl.”

The Director? Director Yarl was head of the VIU. Who was this lady that she had a direct line to him?

An achingly long minute passed. ‘Mrs Peacock’ tapped her foot. Matthew felt himself losing feeling in one of his hands and tried to shift a little, earning a glare from the tall man.

“Go ahead,” the computer finally crackled with Director Yarl’s distinctly recognizable deep voice. Matthew’s breath hitched in disbelief.

“Director!” Mrs Peacock greeted warmly, “I’m calling about a mistake you made that I’m hoping we can remedy.”

“... Go on.”

“You took one of my boys that you weren’t supposed to,” she said, speaking as one would to a misbehaving small child, “Edward Finch. I was working so hard on him, and now all that work has gone to waste.”

Matthew lifted his head slightly, morbid curiosity overcoming his fear. What did Finch have to do with this?

“As you can see,” she waved at the tall man, and he panned the camera across the prone bodies of the agents, “I’m willing to make good on our deal. Tenfold, I said, didn’t I?”

There was a long pause. Matthew looked to the camera. Did Yarl really have a deal with this vampire? A deal to… keep other vampires safe?

Some form compounds, too strong for the VIU to break up. Dozens of vampires, protecting each other.

“Finch cannot be returned to you,” Yarl said flatly.

“Oh? And why would that be?” she asked, twirling the mic cord in her fingers.

“Finch is dead.”

“Oh well!” Mrs Peacock didn’t sound surprised or upset in the least. “Tenfold it is!”

Her head turned back and forth as she looked over the helpless agents.

“Let’s start with the big one!” she said.

Matthew’s heart leapt into his mouth as he realized immediately she meant him. The tall man strode forward and lifted Matthew by his collar to his knees. Matthew tried to struggle, grunting in protest, but between the ropes cutting off his circulation and the lingering effects of the gas, it was useless. The man pulled a large hunting knife from his belt and lifted it towards Matthew’s throat. The other agents behind him broke their silence, raising a cacophony of squeals and grunts. Mrs Peacock clapped her hands.

“Oh, they’re just like pigs in a slaughterhouse, aren’t they?”

He was going to die. It hit him then, and Matthew started to truly panic, hyperventilating through his gag. It didn’t make sense. These two were clearly vampires, so why would they throw away ten sources of blood? Unless… they already had all the blood they could ever need.

“Do make it slow, Richie,” Mrs Peacock trilled, “I want Yarl to really… get my point.”

Without a word or warning, the tall man ran the knife along Matthew’s collarbone and slashed outward across his shoulder. Metal ground against bone and Matthew screamed through the gag. He gasped for air and stared in disbelief as blood soaked his shirt. He tried to beg through his gag, making pained and strangled noises of desperation, until - 

“Hello, Mrs Peacock.”

Everyone froze at the sound of a new voice on the call - calm, collected, pleasant. Matthew’s stomach flipped.

No.

“It’s me, it’s your Simon.”

~~~

First, Previous, Next, Masterlist

Taglist: @flowersarefreetherapy @pigeonwhumps @sunshiline-writes @seasaltandcopper

[forever-eternal]

Do you have any Texas headcannons?

Texas— Gabriel Jones! The Mama’s Boy :3

I have a few!

———————————————————————

-He goes by Gabriel, he’ll answer to ‘Texas’ but he doesn’t like it as much.

-Sometimes he won’t even answer to it, unless its one of the Government humans. They don’t get to call him ‘Gabriel’.

-Maybe you can tell, but he’s a Mama’s AND a Papa’s boy. He loves both of them very very much.

-If you asked him to pick when he was a little boy, he would cry. If you ask him now, he’ll ignore you and go hug his parents instead.

-Speaking of when he was little, it was very easy to make him cry. Very, very easy. Sensitive little boy turns into a sensitive man (who hides his emotions because he doesn’t know how to deal with them anymore).

-For many years, he hid in his Ma’s skirts or Pa’s coats when they went out. He still tries to do it despite being 6-12 inches taller than them.

-They let him hide! They’ll hold him but act like he’s not there to everyone around them.

-He has the most subconscious trauma from Before he was the State of Texas, back when he was the Texas Republic and when he was a colony of Spain.

-Which is part of the reason he hid from strangers and cried easy, he was a little man with big fears and big emotions.

-He is a BIG man, 6’8 with tree trunk limbs and a chest the size of a barrel. Easily 300+ pounds, able to carry everyone in his family with ease.

-He gets it from Georgia.

-Has a Blue Lacey dog. Her name is Buddy, because she’s his little buddy!

-She helps him around his ranch with all his animals and such, which are mostly cared for by his Cities since he’s been in the Statehouse.

-He still goes to check in on the ranch at least four times a week, he just don’t live there all the time anymore.

-He has a bay and white colored Clydesdale horse, his name is Ford.

-He drives a bright red, four-door pick-up truck. No one remembers the brand and it probably shouldn’t work as well as it does.

-They no longer make the truck or the parts used for it, he still gets his hands on replacements anyway. The truck is a little banged up but clean and works like its new.

-He has a Texan flag bumper sticker, and thats it. If someone sticks a new sticker on his truck, he’s out there scraping it off until theres nothing left of it.

-Cities don’t always look like their State’s personification (aka, their parent) but sometimes they are incredibly similar. Houston looks exactly like him, just an inch shorter.

-He does REALLY bad with cold weather. Most Southern States do, but he gets BAD.

-He and all his Cities pack it up and go to the Jones house when it gets too cold. Ma and Pa always have enough rooms for everyone.

-If he’s still freezing because of his State’s temperature, he’s buried in 20 blankets. He may be lying on top of his parents, or in a pile with his Cities in front of the fire place. He may just be dressed warmer than usual.

-His main house is a farmhouse, with several rooms for his Cities to stay in (several still live with him). It’s on a large plot of land he built his ranch on.

-All in all, he tries to act tougher than he is. I love him, I want to throw him out a tenth story window. I want to wrap him in blankets so nothing hurts him.

[windowsolutionsusa]

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[deputygonebye]

With the smell of smoke still in the air and clinging to his nose, the perfume of a burned down barn, Shane wandered into the woods just near the highway that he and the group had chosen to take refuge upon. Car engines silenced - beaten down and tired. All still a blur, shapeless faces and sounds that boarded on mumbles, how his legs led him to safety, he didn't know. Couldn't remember - his mind was clouded - couldn't bear to recall. A gun had been within his hand, aimed and loaded. In what felt like a lifetime ago, thousands of years, mere seconds. A gun had been directed toward Rick with an intent to kill. Back on that farmland, when the hunt for Randall had commenced, when two brothers stood alone. When the trust of a friend morphed into the betrayal of a threat. Madness swirling within brown eyes like a tornado from Texas - ruthlessly, full of gray and black, void of light.

Flesh stained with blood from a brawl of yore, a crazed thought had driven Shane. Encouraged his fingers to take hold of the gun, coaxed the worse, the devil. A bullet had the name of Rick carved into it. A single branding; for the sake of Carl and Lori, their safety entire, the others of their found family. Soon to be punctured within the chest, before so much as a scream of protest could escape Rick's dried lips, an accusation of guilt descended instead. Between the words already shared. Rick knew Shane better than anyone. Understood the bedrock of his mind, the cracks and broken bits but loved them anyway. Guilt alone would kill. Before another foot could be set upon the land that Hershel called his own. Before the aroma of freshly baked biscuits and white gravy could hit the senses, blown out into the Georgia night from an open kitchen window. Shane would be dead, too. By his own actions, lack of fight against any enemy who would choose to pounce, a halt of the heart. Precious beats that would still to nothingness.

Gun still in hand, any effort to put an end to Rick had finished. Stalled, disappeared just as soon as it had come, vanished along with the insanity that tormented Shane. Replaced itself with tears unshed and shaking hands; surrender that would have accepted any consequence. Should Rick have called for death, dared to turn the tides of fate against Shane, so Shane would have welcomed. Wanted, could no more stand the circumstances of his life, their life, the whole world. Peace was a sweetness he so lusted for. Freedom from the fear that Walkers provided - the smell, the growls, the pain. But not from Rick did Shane find such peace. Not from the beautiful agony of a knife's edge, the bullet from a gun not already grasped. Forgiveness was born, rather. A pardon for the sinful. Exoneration that required no jury or judge. Just the touch of a brother, fingertips around a barrel just begun to be lowered, a weapon confiscated.

Into the woods nearest the highway road, Shane wandered. Could still hear the cries from those who didn't survive like he, could feel the soft grass that had been trampled under foot. There was no more democracy, so Rick declared, the echo of his command still bouncing off the trunks of trees and into the abyss of a fragile mind. Beside a dying fire. No more democracy, but that decline into organized anarchy could not soothe the hurts that already nestled inside of Shane. Rapid breath cast over the air, the rise and fall of a chest that couldn't find solace, onto the Earth did the once proud deputy go. As Cain did before the Lord, head down, eyes shut, hands covering his ears to block out the noise, the angels that taunted him. Knees brushed by more than just ash, a once red barn full of golden hay scorched, panic strangled Shane until tears couldn't be contained.

Down his cheeks did they flow, coughed and horrible. Bile risen from the depths of his stomach, the food there that hardly counted as a meal, the shame of what he had done and what he had tried to do. Otis - a gnarled and pale face that wouldn't leave, torn apart and ripped. Randall - who deserved what had come to him, a boy, broken neck bent in Shane's direction, head cocked to the side with eyes glazed in a cadaverous haze. Where it was difficult to hide, where hands could not cover the ears to shield the screams, the questions: how could you do this to us?

Breathless, absolutely breathless, prayers couldn't save Shane, but ever so did he beseech. Over and over, a scratched record, like how Grandma Jean's favorite used to spin around: God, I'm sorry. God, I'm sorry. Oh, my God, I'm sorry. Rick. Rick. Rick...

A wounded animal hunted down by the disgrace of its past, with cold sweat running down his neck, along his spine, over the forehead and down his jaw, Shane stayed within that patch of open forest. Rocked himself back and forth. Repeated his prayers, cried even when nothing came from it, conversated with persons that none could see except for he. Delusional; imagination and reality a blanket that wrapped around Shane tight. Beneath the stars, under the watchful glance of the moon, beside the ghosts.

And Shane did not leave it.

[julietookoff]

February 2023 Tour

So some of the maintenance we did on our 11 year old RV:  replace part of a rotted slide-out floor, paint the yellowed ceiling fixtures, get front seat covers, a new driver’s side window, install a microwave over-the-stove, replace the 2 house batteries, "new" mattress and just scrub and touch-up everything.  We took it to Henkel's RV Sales August 9, knowing it was off-season for RV sales. . . it is still there!  We were hoping it would sell around the time of the big RV show in Tampa, but that's been a few weeks ago. . .  It’s still in good shape; as Shorty said, “Nobody’s got any money now.”

Closing on our house was July 22, 2022.  We found a G.E. dishwasher at an outlet store in Clearwater, a G.E. stove at an estate sale, and fridge, washer and dryer at Lowe's.   By the time we got the mattresses, shower curtains, and things you need to live, our first night in the house was July 29.  We still had to commute to Holiday to finish working on the RV at our tired senior pace.  We decided we're going to die here, because we're too old to move again. . . we were so worn out.  But dang, we're loving it here!

We continued commuting (about 35 miles each way) to see Shorty most weeks; a few times he came up to see us at the house.

The first two things I cooked in the new house were sheet pan chicken/taters/ corn on the cob and chicken parm on the sheet pan.  After 10 years with an RV oven, I had a heuge two-shelfer and two giant sheet pans I had been dying to use.  I had been collecting recipes from Julia Pacheco, my fav You-Tube home cook, for about a year.  To Corny's (and Bob's) delight, I have been cooking up a storm!  I also started a little canning.  I have wanted sodium-free beans for a long time - and the pressure canner takes them from dried, right outta the bag to squishy soft in 40 minutes.

^stuffed Manicotti

Corny watched and I re-watched Breaking Bad on one of the many TVs we've found in storage auctions.  This one came with a guest subscription to Netflix.  We watched "Better Call Saul".  He was Corny's favorite character.  I've always loved Bryan Cranston.  Then we watched all the Jurassic Park movies.

Here's a little tour.  The walls are a very light grey; flooring is grey vinyl:

^This is where I have my oatmeal with Piggie and Poco

Master bed and bath:

Life of Christ cross - all the little boxes were delivered to Shorty's house over the past year and accumulated in storage.  It was like Christmas, opening them all up and displaying them!

Bedroom 1, Den and bath 2:

Poco got a cute little 2' fence surrounding the patio.  Corny doesn't worry so much about him wandering away now.

Backyard visitors:  flock of 6 wild turkeys, pond turtle  

Fledgling woodpecker chatted with me and clung to my leg for several minutes when I went to pick up my bedside dresser.

Without gutters yet, when hurricane Ian headed our way in September, we made two trips to a county park to fill sandbags.  Some young, energetic people took pity on us old, slow-moving, moaning people and helped us haul the heavy bags to the Jeep.  Corny made a few bucks selling flashlights and lanterns he had gotten on clearance months ago, thanks to Ian.

In November I did a big 2-week Georgia county run.  I only got the Jeep stuck once, in mud covered by leaves.  A Lumpkin County Sheriff had me out within minutes.  I have about 1/3 of GA counties to visit:

On Thanksgiving Shorty brought Bob up to the house.  They arrived at 5pm; the turkey finished at 7:30pm.  I made real gravy for the first time in decades.

Corny had some kidney procedures in November, then found himself in the hospital for an infection in December.

Shorty told us on Dec. 1 he was moving "up north".  He heard rumors that Hyundai was hiring contractors to do his job so he promptly took his 3 weeks vacation.  When he went back to see if he was on the schedule, they were like "Who are you?".  He had worked there 10 1/2 years.  We were so glad they did what we couldn't - kick him in the pants so he would get a better job.  The little shit decided to move to Elkhart, Indiana to be able to afford a house of his own.  We miss him - my life has certainly changed.  I would plan all week what to bring him or ask him or tell him.  But we are very happy for him to be out on his own and experiencing real freedom for the first time.  He left for Elkhart Dec. 3 so now we just text.

We didn't have much notice, so Christmas was basically cancelled.  We went to Buffet City on Christmas Eve.   I made 4# of candied pecans to send up north and give to the neighbors and Liam - Shiloh Builders' Number Two.  They are building a house right next door which Chick, the owner of Shiloh, is going to live in part time.  They are using the garage as their office.  

I threw a tapestry over the TV for Christmas.

Corny scored a home run and got me a Kitchen Aid accessory that peels, cores and slices an apple all at the same time!  I made my first apple pie since I was 20-something years old.  I was always too impatient to peel apples.

We continue going to storage auctions.  The latest score was an entire tub of Yu-Gi-Oh and Pokemon cards.  I went through them all to check for the big buck$ cards.  There weren't any.  When I get back from BamaRama (GC9TB1Z) I will list them on Facebook Marketplace for prolly $20/box.  

Life is Godd!

We fit out.

[saintelarue]

on her metamorphosis.... the small aftermath of new monster - hood...

Eve’s home was drafty,   with Georgia’s winter having hit a bit harder than usual. Her windows banged and thrashed from the outside wind, a screeching filling her almost-overstuffed house every other second. Her floorboards creaked angrily whenever she walked across them - a threat of walk over me again and I'll break!  that never followed through. But it was a comfort, she found, to allow her feet to touch the floor. Walking on air, hovering over them, had never been an exciting way of travel - Eve had realized this within a few months of her metamorphosis, how her feet left the floor if she wasn't careful, how weightlessness felt like nothing and yet there was a distinct buzzing beneath her soles. Pleasant flies tickling her toes, pushing them upwards until the ground disappeared and was replaced with air. She had realized other things as well. The food she had grown to love and enjoy, dishes that had risen in popularity over the decades, all of them made with loving brown hands, no longer satiated her hunger; now, she consumed them for comfort, rather than survival. And mirrors began to strike her with a certain type of terror that began at the base of her belly and spread outwards, stopping at her corneas and stinging them harshly.

But that was decades ago. Centuries, or maybe months. Her metamorphosis had occurred quickly, and just as quick she had become used to it. As if she had settled into a new skin, Eve had made herself wary of the way her feet brushed against the floors, how her skin almost sizzled - pleasantly so, now that it was winter - in the direct sun. All this had become commonplace, mere inconveniences that filled her lonely days and made them a bit lonelier. It seemed as if she basked in that feeling, a chilly wash covering her shoulders and the top of her head, pooling at her ankles until she couldn't ignore it - until she kicked it away with all her force, until her body ached for company, for laughter, for shared existence. 

She lived alone; not by choice, but because it was the only way for her to live. Because she lived alone, her house was full of trinkets, a personality or two other than her own, to mimic the presence of another. Her home also changed with the seasons,    with the years,   with the decades. She swapped her furniture often until she decided not to, and her home - still drafty, still almost - crowded, still made of her and her alone - became an amalgamation of the past: here was a grandfather clock that no longer ticked, its hands stuck at midnight; here, the couch a store she had visited in the early 60s late at night. Her furniture remained in pristine condition as she took care of it; in truth, she had become unnerved by the changing of time, something she could and would no longer keep up with and continue. Her face had remained the same as it was seventy years ago. The skin of her hands did not wrinkle with age, and her body kept itself from hunching over. Her house remained the same, stuck in the past in definite ways. 

She collected chairs and tables as if she were constantly awaiting guests, filling the corners of her rooms with activities, as if these imagined guests were in need of ever-changing entertainment. Music played constantly: in the living room, a brassy Armstrong; in the spare bedroom, a bit of Tchaikovsky; in the kitchen, an old, crackling recording of something muffled from long, long ago. But the music was faint with nothing to drown it out, her own voice not loud enough to cause any noticeable confusion on who was singing who. Eve would tell herself, it's okay, this loneliness. To be lonely is to be safe from the outside, and in some ways she was correct. To be trapped in this home was to be safe from the stares of others, the way mothers held their children close whenever Eve smiled down on them, the way eyebrows raised when her skin began to sizzle like bacon underneath the sun. The way threats were threaded in the words of the mailman who still, still, delivered any packages to her - "I carry knives with me, just in case," or "watch out - I might slip and hurt someone with this box” - despite knowing who she was - what she was, his eyes trained on her when she took boxes from his grasp as if he expected, or wanted, her to lunge at him. As if he were hungry for violence from her, hungry to commit violence unto her.

This, she was sure, the mailman knew of her as well:  how her hunger ran deep inside her, deeper than even his. It had accompanied the other feelings, the terror and the wariness, but it also felt as if it were its own thing; it was a separate metamorphosis, but still quick in its own right. While she still brought hot and cooked food to her mouth, it became bland and tasteless and disgusted her more than anything. The comfort it had originally brought was no longer conceivable, nonexistent. A bad taste in her mouth that spread through her throat. A new craving began before she had a chance to reject it:  the meat she handled one night, raw and bloody, made her mouth water. The red that stained her cutting board made her stomach growl. As her knife cut into the meat, she imagined lifting the chunks into her mouth and biting through it, chewing and swallowing bite after bite after bite. Caught in this fantasy, her hand slipped, and the knife’s blade took a bite of its own from her finger, small and sudden, and Eve jerked backwards. The knife clattered against the countertop, and the blood - her blood - skittered across the board and onto the floor. Eve watched as her blood dripped from the wound and the surprise melted into expectancy. Into understanding. Fluidly, quietly, Eve lifted her wounded finger to her mouth, and sucked.