#and its like... a many mile stretch of small road

[actual-corpse]

OF COURSE THERES A PLACE CALLED FUCKING "DOOMS CHAPEL" IN CREEP-ASS SYMSONIA!

[joelalorian]

Wonder in Winterland - Part I

Hallmark!Joel Miller x f!reader | wc: 2790 | masterlist

Summary: You, a city girl on a cross-country road trip a week before Christmas, find yourself stranded in a whimsical Christmas town. You soon discover there is more to life than big city dreams. Based on the Hallmark movie Love You Like Christmas.

Warnings: None (although the rest of this blog is 18+ mdni). This is utter fluff and whimsy. Limited descriptions of reader and no use of y/n. Enjoy it with a cuppa hot cocoa and a warm blankie. Will post on Sundays throughout December.

Dividers courtesy of saradika-graphics. This magical moodboard is all thanks to @brittmb115!

Part I

A thousand miles from nowhere, you grew weary of driving despite the scenic view of snow-dusted evergreens looming like sentinels along the barren stretch of highway. The old pickup your dad left you ate up the miles like an asphalt sandwich, its engine rumbling almost louder than the outdated radio as it struggled to stay tuned to the local stations. The scent of pine mixed with motor oil hung in the cab, a reminder of just how old the truck was and the amount of time you spent trapped in it so far.

If not for the irrational fear of flying, you’d already be in San Francisco, enjoying a cocktail at Pier 39, watching the sea lions as you killed time before your long-time client’s wedding.

Instead, you were twenty-seven hours into the cross-country trek with too many hours left to go and you had to pee so bad you could practically taste it. Shifting uncomfortably, you casted a glance at the towering mountains lining the valley, the sun fighting to peek through the lingering fog as it rose above the peaks. When traffic ground to a halt, a frustrated groan slipped past your lips, and you threw the transmission into park.

Popping the door open with a loud creak, you took the unexpected break as a sign to stretch your legs. The brisk air outside bit at your skin when you stepped out, breath forming small clouds that disappeared into the winter wind. You weaved between cars to the soundtrack of beeping horns and impatient shouts until coming upon the cause of the delay.

A trailer full of Christmas trees sat partially overturned, half its cargo scattered across the highway like some messed up holiday party. Among the chaos stood a man – tall, broad, and clad in a thick, well-worn flannel jacket that looked as rugged as the mountains behind him. The breeze caught his dark curls, tossing them across his forehead as he worked to pile the fallen trees back onto the trailer. Wholly unbothered by the flustered drivers glaring and honking at him, the man worked with steady, unrushed focus.

“Need any help?” you called out, slipping on a pair of leather gloves as you approached.

The man’s head snapped toward you at the sound of your voice, and he paused, brow loosening and a small smile pulling at his lips as warm brown eyes drank you in with a curious, amused glint. “I’d hate to ruin your pretty little outfit, darlin’.”

Your eyebrow arched. A playful smiled tugged at your lips as you stepped closer, snow crunching under your heeled boots. “You think my outfit’s pretty?”

His expression faltered for a split second, replaced by something warmer. “I think you’re pretty. The outfit’s just window dressing.” His grin widened as he added, “I’m Joel, by the way.”

Your laugh bubbled out, light and unexpected, cutting through the cold rhythmically. Joel’s gaze lingered on you, his cheeks tinged pink – not from the chill, but from something else entirely. Just as your gloved hands were about to clasp in a handshake, some asshole laid on his horn with a shout.

“Can you two get a room or something? Some of us have somewhere important to be!”

Turning to glare at the offender, you opened your mouth and the New Jersey in you came flying out. “Can it, dick cheese! Get off your fat ass and help if you’re in that much of a hurry!”

A bark of laughter drew your attention back to Joel as he shook his head in merry disbelief before going back to moving the trees. This time, you didn’t ask if he wanted help and bent to grab one of the smaller trees to lug it toward the trailer. The cold bit at your cheeks, breaking through your coat that was clearly more for style than warmth. The fresh scent of pine filled your lungs, as you hefted the tree back to the trailer.

Joel stood a few paces away with a larger tree slung over his broad shoulder, watching with an amused tilt of his head as you struggled past him.

“Aw come on, doll. You don’t have to do that.” His voice held a soft, almost pleading quality, but hidden behind that was a flicker of admiration as you ignored him and carried on despite the struggle. His expression shifted – half a smirk, half something deeper – as you hefted the tree onto the trailer and turned to fetch yet another one.

The pair of you continued working, Joel’s eyes flicking toward you now and then, lingering a little longer than they should. Around you, the chaos of impatient honking and shouts became nothing more than white noise.

A few others – including the mouthy asshole from earlier – seemed to get the hint that the roadway would clear quicker if they helped and within ten minutes, two of the travel lines were clear and traffic started to flow once again.

“Thanks for your help. You should probably get going, you look like you’re freezing,” Joel said as the last tree landed on the trailer and he pulled the tie down straps taut. “I’m gonna be here a while waiting for the tow truck. Can’t fix the trailer without some equipment.”

“Well, it was nice meeting you, Joel.” You shook Joel’s hand again, the heat from him worming its way through the material of your gloves, curling around you like the heat from a distant fire.

“You, too, darlin’.”

You hesitated, staring at each other for several long moments, not wanting to leave but you didn’t have a good enough excuse to stay. Flashing one last charming smile, you waved and sauntered back to your truck, which sat alone in the still blocked third lane.

The moment your truck refused to start, panic set in, swirling like winter wind in your chest. You hopped out again, popping the hood with more frustration than sense. Steam wafted from the still warm engine in thin, mocking wisps as you stared at the confusing labyrinth of parts comprising the engine compartment, entirely clueless. The frigid air nipped at your fingers and numbed your toes – why didn’t you dress appropriately knowing you’d be driving through a winter wonderland for half the journey.

The crunch of boots over the mix of ice and gravel sounded behind you, causing a shiver to wander down your spine. “I believe it’s my turn to offer a hand,” Joel said, his voice a deep rumble, sending a ripple of something straight to your core. When you turned, he was closer than you expected, his warm brown eyes softening as he took in your helpless shrug. “Let me take a look.”

He leaned over the engine, his broad and calloused hands moving deftly as though coaxing the old truck into cooperation. You caught yourself staring at the way his jaw clenched in concentration, the salt and pepper scruff along his jaw catching the light when he titled his head. Each frustrated grunt from him made your stomach flip, a feeling you hadn’t experienced in a while. Your thoughts began wandering in a certain direction as you eyed the breadth of him…

After a few fruitless minutes, Joel straightened, wiping his palms along the dark denim covering his legs before running one hand through his dark curls. The movement left his hair deliciously mussed, and you ached to run your own fingers through it.

“Can’t do much out here in the cold. Jimmy’s got the tools and parts we’d need back at his garage. Lemme just call him to give ‘em the heads up he’ll need to tow it back.”

As he spoke into his phone, explaining your plight to Jimmy, you realized how much you appreciated the way he said your name, drawing it out like something worth savoring. The way he stood close, his shoulders hunched slightly, broad body breaking the wind to protect you from the cold as much as he could, didn’t go unnoticed either.

“He’ll be here in a few,” Joel said once the call ended. “You can wait in my truck if you’re cold. I’ll give you a lift into town after.” Joel led you toward the shiny black four by four parked half on the shoulder, opening the door for you like a true country gentleman. Holding out a hand, he helped you climb up into the passenger seat as the sound of large tires on the rumble strip sounded behind you. “Up you get. That’ll be Jimmy. Feel free to start ‘er up and put the heat on. We’ll be done in no time.”

Your hands grasped the ring of keys and immediately stuck the right one into the ignition. The truck growled to life with a simple turn of your wrist and heat poured from the vents, carrying the heady scent of fresh-cut trees and sandalwood through the cab – his scent, you realized, and it was unexpectedly comforting. You adjusted in the seat, your fingers brushing over the fabric of a thick Carhart jacket slung over the headrest, as the warmth of the truck seemed to seep into your very core.

You had just pulled the jacket off the seat to wrap around yourself when Joel opened the driver-side door and climbed in, his movements fluid and unhurried. He glanced your way as he settled into the seat, the corners of his lips twitching upward when he noticed you bobbing your head along to Bing Crosby crooning over the radio.

“That was quick!” you exclaimed.

Joel’s chuckle was low and intimate. “Just needed the right leverage,” he said, resting his hands briefly on the heated steering wheel. His large, strong fingers flexed as though testing their strength after the labor. “Jimmy’s hooking up your truck now. He’ll be right behind us.”

You nodded, gaze drifting to his profile to drink in the sharp lines of his jaw and the pink tinge on his cheeks. Snow started falling outside as Joel shifted the truck into gear and began driving. As he steered the large truck down the highway, you caught a faint, amused glint in his eyes when he asked, “So, road-tripping for the holidays?”

The pair of you made easy conversation as he drove. You told him about your travel plans, and he told you about his farm. The miles passed in a blur before he signaled to take the next exit.

“Winterland?” you whispered upon seeing the welcome sign indicating the town’s name, the word slipping past your lips in wonder.

The small town of Winterland was like stepping into a Christmas card come to life. Lights twinkled on every storefront, reflections dancing off the snow-covered sidewalks. Wreaths adorned old gas-style lampposts, and the faint sound of holiday music drifted through the air from scattered outdoor speakers. Joel slowed the truck as he drove down Main Street, and you leaned closer to the window, the scene outside stealing your breath.

Joel glanced at you, warmth lighting his expression as he watched your awe unfold. “It grows on you,” he murmured, his voice almost too quiet to hear over the hum of the engine.

“You have got to be kidding me!” The urge to stomp your foot like a child nearly impossible to fight, you settled for a frustrated huff instead. “Nearly a week? Really?”

Jimmy the tow truck driver slash mechanic slash owner of the only gas station in town shrugged regretfully, one hand placed on the paunch pulling taut on his coveralls, the other stuck in his pocket. “Between the holidays and the weather, that’s the best my supplier could do. Parts for old trucks like that aren’t common, hon.”

“Can’t you order the parts from Amazon or something? They have two-day delivery!”

“Sorry, ma’am. I checked already and they’d have the same problems delivering the parts. That’s the downfall of small mountain towns, unfortunately, and it doesn’t get much smaller than Winterland.” Jimmy tried to smile, but it came across as more of a grimace on his grizzled face.

“Damn. Thanks for trying, Jimmy. I know you’re doing your best and I appreciate it.” Bumping your fist against the counter twice, you spun on your heels to leave only to turn back around. “Uh, is there like an inn or hotel or something nearby? I’m going to need a place to stay if the truck is going to take a week to fix.”

“That we do. The Millers run a small bed and breakfast down the road. It’s the only one in town. I’ll give you a ride in a minute.”

You waved him off. “That’s ok, I’ll just walk. It’ll give me the chance to take in the town.”

Jimmy eyed you doubtfully, questioning your clothing and footwear, which were clearly not suitable for the winter weather in the mountains. “If you say so, doll. You know it’s still snowing out, right?”

Five minutes later, you regretted brushing off Jimmy’s offer of a ride. Between the salt on the sidewalks, the falling snow, and the biting gusts of wind, dragging your rolling suitcase while trying to keep warm was a huge pain in the ass. That and you swore your toes were nothing more than little ice cubes attached to your feet.

When you finally reached the bed and breakfast, cleverly named the Evergreen House at Winterland, the scent of cinnamon and fresh-cut pine greeted you like an old friend. The cozy warmth of the lobby wrapped around you, the crackling fire in the hearth casting dancing shadows on the walls that mesmerized you.

Everything about this town, including its buildings and people, reminded you of Christmas. What was it like in the summer, you wondered.

“Hi there,” a friendly voice greeted you from down the hall and you glanced up to find a beautiful, dark-skinned woman walking toward you. Dressed in well-worn jeans and a thick ivory sweater, feet clad in fuzzy slippers, your own chilled, damp body quaked with jealousy over how comfortable and warm she looked. “You must be the new guest Jimmy told me to expect. I’m Maria.”

Replying with your name and a smile, you added, “I hope you have a room for me? I’m at a loss for where else to look if not.”

“Of course! We have the best room for you and plenty of food and drink to keep you sustained for as long as you need. What brings you to town?”

Maria led you up the rounded stairway as you shared the story of driving across the country and the old truck refusing to start after a delay on the highway. You spared her the details, though. She stopped in front of dark wooden door, a hand-carved sign on it reading “Blue Spruce”, and opened it to reveal a cozy sitting area and a large bed. “This is your room. We named all the rooms after Christmas trees. It was my husband’s idea – his brother owns the tree farm on the outskirts of town.”

Putting the pieces together, you asked, “Your husband is Joel’s brother?”

“You know Joel?” Maria inquired, brows arching curiously. She seemed delighted by that fact, judging by the smile slowly spreading across her lips.

“Well, yeah, I met him out on the highway. He’s the reason for the traffic jam and why I ended up here in Winterland rather than stranded somewhere else along the road.”

“Well, isn’t that serendipitous!” Maria replied with a clap of her hands. “Joel and Sarah are coming for dinner tonight. You’ll join us, of course.”

Maria’s excitement was infectious, and you smiled in return. You couldn’t help but wonder who Sarah was – a girlfriend or wife, probably, as your luck tended to go – and if Joel’s reaction to your unexpected reunion would be as enthusiastic as hers. Maria left you to get settled in and rest for a bit before dinner. You changed into something more comfortable for napping and barely laid down before something scratched at the door with a low whine.

“What in the world?” you murmured as you shuffled toward the door. A golden retriever sat waiting for you, tongue lolling and a Santa-themed bandana around its neck. “Well, hello there. Who might you be?”

The dog trotted right past you like he owned the place, and you spotted the name Barkley printed on the bandana as he went by. “Barkley, huh? The Miller family really went all in on the Christmas tree charm, didn’t they?”

Barkley jumped on the bed and whined, clearly begging you to let him nap there. Giggling softly, you shut the door and climbed back under the covers, falling asleep with Barkley snuggled right up to your side like your own personal radiator.

tbc

[serene-sun]

𝕾𝖆𝖋𝖊 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖒𝖊, 𝖗𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙 𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊 𓅓

Pairing: rain x gn reader fluff/comfort

Warning: panic attack, separation anxiety, fear, overthinking, fear of something bad happening, hyperventilation, crying, if I need to add something let me know!

Summary: being far away from home is never anyone’s desire, especially with so many people to care about

A/n: so I’m writing this falling asleep so I apologize for any grammar mistakes. This is pure comfort that I need rn bc this is my exact situation rn and my anxiety is through the roofs. Nevertheless, just being on a big ass tour bus freaks me out rn. All of this is based on what I’m feeling rn. TYSM for any comments, likes, and reblogs! <3 (Plz excuse the amount of times I say “rn”)

The bus rocks gently as you roll over to your other side, now facing the cold window. You felt the metallic side of the glass swoosh cold air onto your skin, the itchy blanket being pushed down to your feet in a temporary fit, the soft blanket you brought from home wrapped you into a warm embrace.

You brushed the hair out of your face, stretching an arm to move the curtain to reveal the moving road. The interstate signs passing by like shreds of light, the passing cars with different people in them. The landscape changed from high mountain tops and trafficked roads to small hills and starry skies.

As cars passed by, the red lights shined through the bus windows and cast dancing shadows across the many accessories across the rooms.

The windows ripple as rain softly runs down the sides of the bus. A tingling noise scattered about the walls, getting louder than slowing only to repeat that process.

Besides the sound of wheels on the road, you could hear faint honking and sirens as the city roads faded in and out between modern and rural.

You wondered if everyone at the ministry was doing ok, what if there was a fight between aether and the older ghouls? What if the higher members were plotting against papa? What if there was a fire? What if?

You’ve caught yourself on your own tongue as you realize you are too far away to do anything about it if you wanted. Just knowing that you were thousands and thousands of miles away from home made your stomach flip.

What if we were to get into trouble? What if someone saw what we advertised and wanted to hurt us? What if they were attacked? What if someone had a medical emergency? What if-?

Your heart beats, it pounds and it begs your brain to stop running so fast. You’re forced to put a hand over your mouth, realizing that you had forgotten to breath. You exhale, a shaky breath as your body desires more air. Your chest burns, and your skin starts to sweat.

It seemed like you were alone now, everyone was asleep so if something happened nobody would be able to help.

You saw how all of their privacy curtains were closed, it was so late even Swiss and rain were far off dreaming about the next show.

We are billions of miles away from home.

You feel the darkness creep into your top bunk, the air turning on you and swallowing you whole. The rain starts to pour onto the bus harder, streaks of water now blurring every car.

Where could I go? There is no where to go! I can’t escape, I can’t escape, I’m all alone!

You feel a thud, and realize that there’s a webbed hand on the side of your bunk. It dips into the mattress, although it’s dark, you can make-out a slender form that slithers its way up into your bunk.

Of course it’s rain, why would it not? Maybe the rain outside woke him up, or did he ever go to sleep?

“What’s going on up here?” Rains voice is just barely audible, so soft the rain over powers it, “I could hear you all the way down there.”

You pretend to be asleep, hoping the water ghoul will just go back to his own bed. You shuffle a little as he brings the blanket under his own legs.

“Sorry.” You squeak out, you knew you can’t ever lie to him. Number one because he would know, number two because he had such a kind sense to him that why would you need to?

“Hey, it’s alright.” He nudges his head over yours, laying behind you and wrapping a hand around your abdomen. “Woah, sunshine what’s the matter?” Rain feels your heart beat, that’s currently acting like you’re in a marathon.

Your lack of air won’t allow you to speak, all you can do is count the cars that speed by.

One, two, three, four, five, six…

“Honey….” Rains concerned now, he tries to turn you to face him, but you’re forced to stay still.

Your mind taunts you, every second that passes by, the further you get from safety.

“Look at me.” The ghoul demands, now scared of what’s overcome you.

He watches your chest rise and fall rapidly, you’re shaking so hard the others might wake up.

Rain forcefully turns you over, hearing a whimper escape your lips.

Your eyes let go of the built up tears, they begin to run down your face just like the rain drops one look away.

The bus shakes and bobs with the road, rains grip on the sides of your arms release. He grabs your hand and places it over his own heart.

“Hey, hey, hey look at me little drop.” He hold your hand there with his own, making you feel his heart beat, “I’m right here, I’m not leaving.”

You quiver, your eyes finally meet his.

“It’s ok…it’s all ok.” He brings his other arm around your back and brings you into a tight hug.

“I want to go home. I need to make sure they are alright. Are we alright?” Your breath fogs up the window and rain wipes away the tears on the apple of your cheek.

“We are fine. We are safe. We are together.” The water ghoul states firmly, as if it wasn’t anything anyone could ever change or question.

“You are safe with me, right here.”

[the-authoress-writes]

Up Where We Belong Part Three

Pete “Maverick” Mitchell x Writer!reader

Up Where We Belong Masterlist

Synopsis: When a writer experiencing horrible writer’s block goes to the Apple Valley Airshow for inspiration, she meets a certain older, daring naval aviator, leading to maybe a little more than just inspiration.

Warnings: Mentions of family member deaths, cancer, some to-be-expected cursing, age gap (reader is in their late thirties to early forties).

But really, this is just fluff.

Author’s Note: This was a pain to finish—you know the feeling when you know what you have to do, but you don’t know how to do it?

(Insert Ben Solo/Kylo Ren/Adam Driver gif here)

Yeah, that was this.

So many parts of this were so stubborn, even when I knew what the next story beat was; combine that with the inner critic being a bitch and the imposter syndrome impostoring, this was a labor of love.

Obviously, I pushed through, and here we have the final chapter of “Up Where We Belong”, which I am very proud of.

Again, I name a story after a song, from another movie about the Navy, funnily enough.

(Only three of my stories on my masterlist are not named after songs)

I can’t stop, apparently.

So here we go!

Even while her phone was telling her she was on the right path, she briefly wondered if she was, in fact, lost.

It couldn’t be more obvious that she was in the middle of nowhere, lonely desert stretching out before her for miles and miles, with nary another car in sight, much less a building that could conceivably be a hangar.

It comforted her to see a blue Bronco pass her by at a brisk pace as she continued down the route indicated by her phone, having not seen another car for the past fifteen or so minutes.

She eventually turned when her phone instructed her, the hills along the road she’d been driving next to giving way to an enormous desert plain, and the slightly heat-distorted sight of a building in the distance, probably a mile off.

A smile crossed her face, that had to be it.

As she drew closer, the nerves she’d been tamping down started to bubble up again, and she cursed herself. “Get a grip, woman, you’re here to review a scene, not to go on a date.”

Despite that, the fact that she’d spent nearly half an hour planning what she’d wear today felt like a Freudian slip—a loose orange tunic with small blue embroidered flowers on the hem and sleeves, dark wash skinny jeans and brown ankle boots—eventually deeming it not too much, but not like she didn’t care.

As she got closer, the building became more impressive, despite its rather homely outward appearance—from the white-painted wood panels worn down to their natural color here and there, the fading “United States Navy” emblazoned at the top, to the faint, sun-bleached squadron insignia on the open bay doors—it just felt beautiful in a wild way.

She parked about several yards away from the hangar doors and shut off the engine. “Okay, what’s going to happen will happen,” she muttered, “you’re going to survive it hook or by crook.

And besides, you don’t even know if he’s married or in a relationship.”

And with that rousing Crispin Crispianish speech, she picked up her messenger bag, slinging it onto her shoulder as she got out of the car.

The desert heat and silence washed over her as she moved towards the doors, calling out, “Hello?”

“In here,” came the reply.

She stepped inside the hangar, the shift to relative darkness briefly obscuring her vision, causing her to blink as her eyes adjusted, to see Pete standing by Bianca, looking somehow even better than she remembered, like something out of a movie.

His gaze was fixed intently on her, the slightest smile on his face, and she couldn’t help but match his expression, a “Hey there, sailor,” thoughtlessly slipping from her lips, which she immediately mentally kicked herself for saying; “Damn it, woman, how awkward can you be?” flashed through her mind like a neon sign.

Thankfully, he only brightly replied, “Hey, glad you could make it.”

Her smile widened. “Not going to miss it—for all I know, this is a one-time opportunity,” she truthfully replied, determined to make the most of this opportunity in regard to her novel—other… hypothetical motivations notwithstanding.

He shrugged, eyes sparkling, his movie star smile as devastating as a whole volume of honeyed poetry. “Who said it was?”

She chuckled, wrenching her gaze away from him before she said or did something stupid, settling for the sting of her teeth on her lip to knock her back to her senses.

Her eyes flit about the hangar, eventually landing on Bianca, the frontispiece of the whole room. “Great place you’ve got here, must’ve been hard to get, though, with it being Navy land.”

“Not that hard when you’ve got friends in high places,” he replied.

The sentence itself was vaguely humorous, something wry, an inside joke, but there was a weight to his tone, like the joke had lost its humor, and instead turned into something to grieve.

She tilted her head slightly, another enigma comprising Pete “Maverick” Mitchell revealing itself.

But before she could think too much, he broke the sudden silence. “Anyway, uh,” he clapped his hands, “you had a scene that needs checking?”

She blinked and raised the leather messenger bag on her shoulder. “I have my laptop right here.”

He gestured grandly to his couch, and as they moved towards it, she surreptitiously wiped her hands on her thighs, perspiration disappearing in the dark wash of her jeans, then busied herself with opening her laptop, finger fumbling on the start screen as she felt him settle in the seat next to her—realistically, she knew he’d likely sit next to her, but just because one knew something didn’t prepare one for experiencing it.

Again, the blinking cursor on her MacBook’s screen seemed to cackle at her, but she ignored it in favor of typing in her password, opening the laptop to the dreaded dogfight scene. “Here it is in all its misery,” she half-joked.

“May I?” he gestured to the device.

“Go ahead,” she sighed.

Pete picked up the device, leaning back with it in his lap, eyes darting about the screen, mouth moving slightly as he read, and in a matter of moments, his hands came up, mimicking the movements she’d written, while his face alternately made skeptical, approving, and a few amused expressions.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” she plaintively asked, bracing for the worst, when he carefully placed the MacBook on his coffee table what seemed like an eternity later.

“It’s not bad at all,” he shook his head, an earnest expression lighting his features. “There are some maneuvers there that are only plausible for the P-51 in a rare set of conditions, and a… couple that I’d say are more in line with the capabilities of the F-35–or the 18 in my hands—but overall, it’s pretty damn good for a self-professed newbie to writing a dogfight scene.”

Her jaw fell open. “You’re kidding me.”

“Swear on my wings,” he laughed, the sound so musical, it was almost annoying how perfect and beautiful this man was.

“How would you fix it?”

He pointed, “Do you have a pen and notebook?”

“Never go anywhere without one.”

That beautiful smile of his spread his lips. “Well, let’s turn and burn, then.”

They worked for a couple or so hours, Pete writing out more plausible maneuvers to replace the impossible ones, demonstrating them with some models he’d run off to another corner of the hangar to retrieve, both of them mutually deciding to leave most of the only slightly implausible ones in, save for the ones where the bounds of reality were a little too stretched for the aerial conditions she’d already committed to, while she elaborated on what he’d written, fitting it into the novel’s style.

Eventually, she released a breath of victory, and proffered the laptop to Pete again, now actually proud of the dogfight scene. “You want to read it again?”

“Alright,” he easily agreed.

He read it again, the scene before her the same as over two hours ago, but this time, the skeptical and amused looks were replaced with a captivated and admiring expression.

“Well?” she prompted.

He blew out a breath. “It reads even better than I thought it would, you’re really good at this.”

She leaned forward, needing to be sure she hadn’t imagined him saying that. “It’s good?”

Pete leaned forward, into her personal space, matching her, as he fervently said, “It’s amazing.”

Her breath caught as the moment stretched taut around them, the two of them close enough for her to see the light reflecting off the peridot and aquamarine flecks in the brilliant jade of his eyes.

She looked around the hangar again at his earnest gaze, the itch to do something stupid scratching at her skin once more—she had a feeling that that would be a pattern for her with Pete Mitchell. “So, tell me, what exactly is it you do for the Navy, Captain Mitchell?”

He froze minutely at the end of her sentence, swallowing thickly as he processed the question.

“If you’ll have to kill me, there’s no need to tell me,” she joked, as she literally saw his brain reboot.

He blinked and chuckled softly, coming back to himself. “No, no, nothing as secretive as all that; I’m an instructor at TOPGUN—basically, I teach the Navy’s best aviators how to be better.

That’s why I talked about students during our phone call.”

“We’ll have to compare notes sometime to see who got it worse—I used to be a high school English teacher.”

Pete winced. “Ooh, teenagers, I don’t envy you.

But imagine taking hotshot twenty-somethings who fly multi-million dollar weapons as a career, who think they’re the best and know everything, shoving them into one room, and having to show them quite vividly that they don’t know everything.”

She gave her own wince. “Ooh.

But come on, you can’t have it that bad—especially if you fly an F-18 anything like how you flew Bianca at Apple Valley.

You’re telling me they’d still act up after getting so thoroughly schooled?”

He tilted his head from side to side, amused. “You’d be surprised, but uh… well, let’s just say that most of the “old man” comments typically tend to lose their bite by the end of the first hop.”

She laughed loudly, throwing her head back, just imagining the reactions of those hotshot kids. “As they should—I’d pay to see their reactions, come to think of it.”

She looked back at him to see his gaze was intently focused on her, but it didn’t send a shiver down her spine—at least not in the unsettling way it usually did when men stared at her. “Maybe my next class cycle, you’d like to come down to North Island, sit in the control tower, listen in on the first hop or two,” he said.

“An opportunity to see an experienced naval aviator in his element; I must say that’s an appealing offer.”

“You just let me know if you want to take me up on it.”

It was sheer instinct to say, “You know, I just might.”

Lowly, he replied, “I’d like that.”

The honestly there was breathtaking.

A glance out the bay doors showed that the sun was starting to hang low in the sky, casting a yellow-orange glow on everything, and caution nipped at her heels. “It’s kind of getting late, and I don’t want to bother you into the evening, I should go.”

Pete’s face fell ever so slightly. “You’re no bother, but I understand if you need to go.”

The slight drop of his features felt like a fall from a high precipice, sinking like a stone in her stomach. “Thank you so much again for your help, I really can’t thank you enough for everything,” she reassured.

“It’s no problem,” he said, almost resignedly.

She felt an intense yearning in her soul to strip that lonely note from his voice, to lift the sadness from him which came in like a squall, so she said the first thing that came to mind, her heretofore carefully-maintained caution getting unceremoniously kicked to the curb. “Uh, this might be stupid, and I’m so sorry if I’m being a nuisance, so feel free to tell me off, but… would you mind if I called you again?

Honestly—I, I don’t really have anyone to talk to about this in much detail with, and—and I’d love to talk with someone who understands the perspective my granduncle might’ve had.”

To her happiness, he brightened. “Not at all, I’d li—it’d be ni—” he sighed, a little wry smile playing on his lips, “feel free to call.”

She resisted the urge to giggle at his fumbling for words. “Okay, I’ll do that.

Thank you.

I promise not to call at like, 2:00 in the morning, when you’re asleep.”

He laughed, but pulled a face that had her mentally frowning as they both stood; however, she didn’t mention it, and instead gathered her things before Pete escorted her to her car, opening the door for her. “I’ll uh, expect your call?”

If the former sadness in his tone tugged at her heart, the thinly veiled hope now there positively wrenched it, and caution was nowhere to be seen. “It might come sooner than you think.”

The boyish, excited expression on his face was enough to make her heart skip a beat. “I look forward to it.”

By the time she reached home, while eating some ramen on her couch for dinner, she found herself picking up her phone and going to Pete’s message thread.

She typed and retyped her message again and again, debating whether or not to send anything at all, but eventually settled on “Just thought I’d let you know that I survived the drive home to bug you another day 🤣”, and sent it off before she could think too much.

Her finger was on the verge of clicking her phone off, but then she caught sight of the typing bubble, and she absentmindedly chewed her lip as she waited for his reply.

Eventually, after about a minute of the typing bubble popping up and disappearing, a message finally came in. “I had every confidence that you would. 😉”

She leaned back, setting into her cushions as she figured out her next message.

The week passed by, and she didn’t pass a day without messaging Pete at least once—he was so easy to talk to about pretty much everything, and it was so comfortable, to just pick up her phone and ask a question or say something non sequitur, his reply coming within the hour, if not within the next ten minutes, starting a conversation by text or a subsequent call, either of which could last hours.

However, this had a drawback.

It meant she didn’t work on the novel nearly as much as she should, and she eventually found herself staring again at her cruel, blinking cursor as her mind stubbornly remained blank.

It wasn’t nearly as bad as her first block, or the block regarding the dogfight scene, but she was starting to get a little frustrated.

Deciding to take a little break from blinking at her laptop’s screen, she traded it for her phone, open, as usual, to Pete’s message thread. “Feeling a little frustrated right now…” she shot off.

Forty-five minutes or so later, she got his reply. “Sorry to hear that.

You want to talk?”

“You free?”

A beat later, her phone rang. “So—frustrated, huh?”

Just hearing his voice had some of the frustration draining from her. “Yes.

It’s absolutely infuriating; I know what happens next, it just doesn’t want to—” she gestured sharply even though he wouldn’t see it, “you know?”

He hummed, “I know the feeling, the same thing happened to me a couple of times when I was writing my paper for my Master’s.”

“You have a Master’s.” she restated, shocked.

“Two, actually—Aerospace Engineering and Physics.”

It was said so matter-of-factly that she simply blinked for several seconds, impressed. “Another layer to Pete Mitchell,” she said, once she found words again.

“Like an onion.”

His joke made her snort while he continued, “I’ll let you in on a little secret—you’d be surprised how many naval aviators are actually nerds.

Don’t let the flight suits and Ray-Bans fool you.”

She laughed, but soon grew serious. “Oh God, Pete, I don’t know what to do—I mean, the last time I productively wrote anything was last week, at your hangar.”

There was a long pause, so much so that she thought the call had dropped, but when she looked at her screen, the line was still connected. “Pete?”

“Yeah, I’m here.” He sounded tentative. “Uh, if, if you wanted, you could—could come down to the hangar this weekend—you never know, being where you were last productive might shake something loose.”

“Sure, I’d love to—I mean—anything to make any progress, and—and the company’s pretty good too.”

She tried not to sound too eager to see him again, but she knew she probably failed at that.

“…Is there anything I can do to turn that ‘pretty good’ to good?” the now-familiar smile could be heard in his voice.

“We’ll see what happens this weekend, Captain.”

This time, when she stepped into the hangar, Pete was kneeling next to one of his numerous motorcycles, hands buried somewhere in its engine, dressed again in a white t-shirt and jeans. “You know, I’m starting to think you live in a white t-shirt and jeans,” she joked, though it was undeniable how good he looked in them.

He looked up, a warm chuckle escaping him, “That’s not true; once in a blue moon, the shirt’s black, and you’re forgetting my flight suit.”

She grinned, “Oh, we have a comedian here, yet another layer!”

“I’ll be here all weekend,” he bowed and swept his arm out to the side before standing and wiping his hands on a nearby rag. “You’re welcome to make yourself comfortable in the living area, can I get you any coffee or anything?”

“Uh, maybe a coffee?”

“Sure thing; how do you take it?”

“Two teaspoons of sugar, splash of cream if you have it.”

With a nod, he strode to the trailer further in the hangar, and soon emerged from the silver Airstream, steaming cup in hand, which he set on the small table beside the couch, where she had settled. “Just ignore me and do what you have to do.”

“Thank you for letting me intrude on your space.”

“No problem, you’re a very welcome change from my usual routine and company.”

She placed a hand on her heart, “Gee, you sure do know how to make a girl feel special.”

A mischievous light entered those beautiful eyes of his, and he leaned down, placing a hand on the back of the couch, making her crane her head up to look at him. “Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet.”

She swallowed thickly, and he glanced down, tracking the movement, but her “Is that so, Captain?” had his eyes meeting hers in a flash.

“Yeah, I’d say that’s so.” The slight rasp in his voice could have been a trick of her imagination, but before she could think about it, he cleared his throat and stepped back. “I’ll let you get to work.

Like I said, just ignore me,” he said, tone light once more.

She wasn’t sure if ignoring him was completely possible, but she replied, “I’ll call you if I need your opinion on anything.”

He threw her an insouciant salute, before heading off into the depths of his hangar.

The blinking cursor of her laptop was just as evil as it always was, but it didn’t seem so daunting here, so she buckled down, beginning to shave out some progress with the soft sounds of tools in the background—it wasn’t as much as she’d like, but anything was better than what she’d been doing, or rather, not been doing the last few days.

After an hour of sitting and writing, she stretched and stood, looking for Pete, curious as to what he was up to.

“Pete?” she called out.

“I’m back here!”

She followed the sound of his voice to a workbench near a sink in the recesses of the hangar; he was looking through a jar of screws, placing the contents into several smaller jars. “You make any progress with the writing?”

“Mm-hmm—not as much as I’d like, but it’s something; I just wanted to stand and stretch for a bit, take a little break from my screen.

What are you doing?”

“I’m working on some upgrades to one of my bikes, but I, uh, got a little sidetracked and I am currently sorting my screw collection,” he sheepishly said.

“Ah,” she nodded, “I know the feeling, the side quest that you absolutely have to complete before you can do anything else.”

“Yeah,” he grinned, “it’s crazy, isn’t it?”

She laughed, a frown soon creasing her brow as she happened to look off to the side.

Involuntarily, she stepped closer to the photo-covered cork board on the wall, gaze fixed on a photo of a young, flight suit-clad Pete, helmet in hand, standing in front of a jet, a tall, familiar-looking man next to him.

The other man was the spitting image of Pete’s son, the only difference perhaps being perhaps ever-so-slightly lighter and straighter hair.

“Bradley looks exactly like him, doesn’t he?” Pete’s voice intruded on her confusion.

She looked to her left to see him standing beside her, an old grief shining in his eyes.

“Yes, he does,” she breathed carefully, knowing somehow that she was in different waters. “Who was he?”

“Nick Bradshaw—Goose—my backseater, back in the eighties, when I flew F-14s.

My brother in all but blood… Bradley’s father.”

The story he proceeded to tell was tragic and heartbreaking; she didn’t even have to see the muted grief in his eyes as he spoke to imagine the anguish he must have endured that day, having to hold Nick’s lifeless body in his arms for what undoubtedly felt like an eternity.

“I became Bradley’s legal guardian after his mother died of cancer, and… while there were a lot of rough years where we didn’t talk to each other, we made up late last year; came out stronger for it, I think.”

“I’m so sorry, Pete,” she breathed.

He smiled ruefully. “Wasn’t all bad, though; got some pretty good brothers out of all that, though I can’t say they’re all still here.”

The dots connected in her head. “The friends in high places?”

He nodded sadly. “My best friend—he was my wingman for decades until he became an Admiral, ended up the highest ranking one this side of the country, in fact.

He died shortly before Bradley and I made up; cancer.”

She didn’t know what possessed her, but she reached for his hand, lacing their fingers together.

His breath hitched, and he looked down at their linked hands, before turning glassy eyes to her.

She was caught in that piercing gaze, which seemed to look right into her soul, and something told her that she was incredibly lucky to be seeing this vulnerability.

The weight of that was almost enough to bring her to her knees, but she pushed that aside in favor trying to ease the sadness in his eyes. “Cancer really fucking sucks, doesn’t it?”

He burst into a watery laugh. “Yes, it fucking does.”

She laughed along with him, squeezing his hand, making the callouses on his palm press against the soft skin of hers. “You want some help with your screw sorting?”

He sniffled, chuckling, “I feel like you’re using me as a distraction.”

“Yes, I absolutely am; are you complaining?”

Pete looked down at the floor, shaking his head with a soft smile. “Not at all, but I’m giving you five minutes before I make you write again, I’m not about to be blamed for any lack of progress.”

True to his word, after the five minutes were up, he shuffled her off to the couch, and she was glad that he wasn’t enabling her procrastination, thankfully able to make a fair bit of progress from there.

Some time later, while in the middle of spell checking what she’d written, she looked up to see Pete place a fresh cup of coffee next to her before sitting in a chair opposite her, picking up a small stack of paperwork and a pen from the coffee table. “Just pretend I’m not here,” he whispered.

For a while, they worked together in silence, as the California sun set, but soon, curiosity began dogging her thoughts. “Doesn’t your wife mind that you’re here late?” she asked.

His gaze almost audibly snapped to hers, his jaw working as he seemed to carefully consider his answer. “…I’m not married.”

Her traitorous heart skipped a beat. “Girlfriend?”

“Don’t have one of those either,” he casually replied. “How about you?

Anyone waiting for you back in San Bernardino?”

She took a deep breath. “Not unless you count my neighbor, Mrs. Moscovitz.

She gets worried when I don’t come home before ten.”

A faint smile crossed his lips. “Good neighbors are hard to come by.”

“That they are.”

They worked in silence for another half hour before she stood and stretched; it was beginning to get dark, and while she was a little more confident driving the desert roads, she wanted to hit the highway before the sun fully set.

“Going now?” Pete asked.

“I want to hit the highway before it gets really dark.”

He smiled ruefully, “I understand, we got to get you back safe, I don’t want Mrs. Moscovitz to kick my ass.”

“And she could, believe me,” she laughed, gathering her things, and exactly like last time, Pete escorted her to her car, opening the door for her.

It was when she turned to face him that a thought body-slammed her. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“I’ve been writing a lot here, and I’ve thought of some of the best moments here, actually.

Um… I guess what I’m trying to ask is… would you mind if we made this—me coming over to write—a regular thing?”

He blinked, seemingly taken aback.

“If I’ve overstepped, please pretend I never—”

“I’m here every weekend, from Friday night until Sunday morning,” he interrupted.

“So that’s a yes?”

“Yeah, it’s a yes.”

“Okay,” she breathed, grinning. “I’ll see you next week, then.”

He matched her grin, “I look forward to it.”

Over the next three months, she made regular weekend visits to the hangar, the two of them learning each other, slowly growing closer as she told him about her life growing up in a family of pilots, her years as a teacher, leaving more and more of her heart behind in the desert each time.

Her heart panged remembering the day he told her why the P-51 was named Bianca.

“Uh, __?

I, er, kind of need some help,” Pete called.

Immediately rising from the couch, she walked over to where he was standing next to Bianca, hands deep in her engine. “What do you need?”

“Could you hand me that wrench there that’s out on the cart?”

After handing it off, a few turns of the wrench later, he stepped back, admiring the old girl while wiping his hands with a rag. “There we go, sweetheart, that’s more like it.”

“You spoil her, you know?” she shook her head.

“How can I not spoil her—look at her!” he replied, with a mock-affronted expression.

“Yeah, she is gorgeous, isn’t she?” she said, turning to look at the marvel of engineering Bianca was.

“She is,” he murmured, and something in his tone made her look back at him, only to see he also had turned to look at Bianca.

“Why’d you name her Bianca?” she asked, wanting to draw out the conversation before he would undoubtedly shoo her back to writing.

He sighed wistfully, “I named her after my mother.

Her name was Bianca Rivelli; Mitchell after she married my dad, of course.

She was from South Philadelphia—Little Italy in that part of town—and she met my dad when she was visiting friends in New York City during Fleet Week; it was love at first sight, she always said.” He hesitated, and a pit sank in her stomach. “She uh, passed from a heart attack when I was seven, but I know that it was heartbreak that really took her, after my dad was shot down and killed in Vietnam and branded a traitor, all because he died during an off-the-books mission.

She tried so hard to hang on for me, I know, and I don’t blame her for leaving—not anymore, not for decades—and when I got the P-51, I wanted to commemorate her somehow.

So I named her Bianca.”

She didn’t even think twice before lunging and pulling Pete into a hug.

He stood stiffly for a moment, and she was just about to pull away, but then he positively sank into the embrace, wrapping his arms around her.

“You’ve suffered so much pain, and it only made you kind,” she sniffled after a long while.

“I can still be an asshole sometimes, you know?” he said, voice wavering.

“Maybe, but you’re still unbelievably kind.”

Now, as she was once again driving to the hangar, trepidation settled at the forefront of her mind; she was nearing the end of the novel, and in fact, she was sure she’d finish it today; but what would happen without a reason to visit Pete?

This was the twenty-first century, a woman had the right to tell a man if she was interested in him, but if he didn’t feel the same, she might just torpedo the best friendship she’d had in a long time; she loved to talk to him, spending time with him was the easiest thing in the world, and not having that anymore seemed incomprehensible.

The hangar drew closer and closer, but she was getting more and more confused, and so decided to engage in the oldest, most revered of writerly traditions: procrastination.

She’d just hope that she’d find the opportunity, the thoughts, and more importantly, the courage, to say something to him.

Fear and nervousness dominated her emotions as she walked into the quiet hangar—much too quiet for a space inhabited by someone like Pete Mitchell.

“Pete?”

“You’re right on time,” he breezily said, coming out of the Airstream, cup of coffee in hand, “something told me to make your coffee already, and here you are!”

“Seems like you’re getting ESP,” she lightly replied, trying to belie the mess of emotions she was feeling.

“I don’t know about all that—maybe just for you,” he softly laughed, his eyes endearingly crinkling at the corners like they always did when he was genuinely happy.

And if that didn’t make her heart absolutely melt—truly, how this man was not married or in a relationship at this point, she didn’t know.

She settled into what she had dared to start thinking of as her “spot” on the couch, the coffee cup he was holding clinking onto the table beside her the next second.

“I’ll let you get to it,” he nodded, squirreling off to a corner of the hangar before she could get a word in edgewise.

With nothing else for it, she reluctantly began writing, and in a sick twist of fate, the words came easily, when she most wanted them not to come, in hopes of drawing this status quo out for just one more week.

One more week of driving to this lonely desert hangar, one more week of seeing those ubiquitous white t-shirts and Levi’s, one more week of hearing his voice, seeing his smile when he caught sight of her.

But fate was cold and cruel, and after roughly two hours, the draft was finished.

Tears welled in her eyes, but for completely different reasons than she would have said when she first began rewriting her Uncle Joe’s story.

“Hey, what’s wrong?

What happened?”

She looked up into Pete’s warm, concerned gaze, and didn’t that just make things worse? “I—I finished the draft.

It’s done,” she croaked.

“Hey, congratulations!

That’s great!” he encouraged, a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Yeah… yeah, it is.

I… I can’t believe it’s over… and I’m really feeling sad right now,” she numbly breathed, deciding for a little honesty.

He moved to sit beside her, his leg pressed against hers, and her breath caught at the proximity.

“Well, that’s understandable, you’ve devoted a lot of time to this, and it’s something very important to you,” he softly replied. “But hey, I have every confidence that this is going to be a bestseller—every publisher is going to want you, and won’t that make everything you went through to get to this point worth it?”

His words made her remember her PopPop, when he encouraged her to write about Uncle Joe and Céline, shortly before he died, and it made her smile despite herself. “It will.”

“That’s the spirit.” He reached up, cupping her cheek, thumb delicately brushing away a tear she didn’t even know had fallen, and almost subconsciously, she leaned into his touch.

He seemed to swallow reflexively, eyes quickly darting down before he met her gaze again and lowered his hand from her cheek, leaving her feeling bereft. “Uh, since it’s not every day one finishes a first draft and all,” Pete gestured, “how—how would you feel about taking a little celebratory flight?”

Her eyes widened. “In—in the—in Bianca?”

A smile she would venture to call sad inexplicably crossed his face. “Mm-hmm.”

“I’d love that.”

What better way to celebrate finishing her granduncle’s story than a flight in the same plane he flew?

At the very least, if she crashed and burned her friendship with Pete because she happened to find some heretofore unknown reservoir of courage, she’d have something shining and beautiful to remember him by.

It felt absolutely surreal to sit in Bianca’s backseat, and it didn’t feel any less surreal as they cruised through the air.

Sitting up here, over two thousand feet above the ground, while she was happy with the direction she’d taken in her life, she felt she now truly understood why the better part of her family had dedicated themselves to the skies.

It was breathtaking and awe inspiring; with the mountainous desert vista out below, the clear blue sky above, she thought she’d never seen anything so beautiful in her life.

To get to see this every day, and to have the controls of a marvel of engineering beneath your hands as a pilot… the feeling was surely beyond exhilarating.

“How you doing back there?” Pete asked, voice tinny through the headphones.

“Just perfect—I can really understand now why you and my family do this for a living, it’s amazing up here.”

“I know, right?

There’s nothing like it,” he breathed, and she could almost feel the joy in his voice.

They flew on in easy silence for a while before he broke it again. “So, I have a question for you; we can keep flying nice and easy like this until you want to land or until we have to, or… we can have some fun—nothing like what I did at Apple Valley, but uh, it’ll definitely be a little bit more exciting than nice and easy.”

As much as she wanted to immediately say yes, she was still a little apprehensive. “You promise not to make me throw up?”

“Swear on my wings,” he solemnly promised, “and if you feel uncomfortable during anything, all you have to do is let me know, and I’ll immediately level off.”

She inhaled and exhaled deeply. “…Alright, go for it.”

“Okay, here we go!” Gently, he brought Bianca into a sweeping banked descent, and from there, while she was sure it was nothing for Pete, who’d done far more daring things in Bianca, and surely in his career as a naval aviator, this was the most thrilling thing she’d ever experienced in her life.

Before she knew it, Pete said, “We’ll have to land in fifteen minutes, so I’ll bring us back around, okay?”

Her heart sank. “So soon?”

He laughed, “We’ve been up here for almost an hour and a half.”

It felt like they just got up here. “What?!”

“Time flies when you’re having fun!”

“You’re corny, Pete Mitchell,” she chuckled.

“Guilty as charged!”

But the joyful mood didn’t last long—soon, the hangar and runway were in sight, and sadness suddenly overwhelmed her; she breathed mournfully, “How can I ever thank you for everything?”

“No need to thank me,” he replied, seemingly overtaken by the same sadness she was, though it didn’t have any bearing on how smoothly he brought Bianca onto the tarmac, and how he brought her back into the hangar.

The leaden pit in her heart and stomach seemed to grow even heavier; she’d been waiting the whole day for the time and courage to tell him how she felt, but she wasn’t able to find a moment or the courage to speak, and now her chances were slipping away, the sudden sound of silence as the engine cut and the canopy slid back feeling like the first handful of earth dropped on a casket.

“You need any help?” Pete’s voice intruded on her thoughts.

“No, I got it.” It wasn’t completely the truth, but anything to draw out the moments she had left.

With a nod, Pete eased himself up out of the cockpit and slid down the wing.

Finally, she was able to unclip herself from her harness and stand up, easing herself onto the wing—

“Ahhh!” she yelped, having lost her foothold on the wing, abruptly sliding down the warm metal, and then—

She suddenly stopped, toes just touching the ground, pressed against a firm chest, her hands fisting in white cotton, warm arms wrapped around her waist.

It was almost a replay of the day she met Pete, and it felt like fate was giving her one final chance.

She looked up into his eyes, knowing that if she didn’t say anything now, she never would. “Pete, I—”

The words died in her throat as he moved his hand to cup her cheek like he had two hours ago, and just like two hours ago, she leaned into the warmth of his touch, her breath hitching as she felt the gentleness with which his rough, calloused palm caressed her cheek.

He scanned her face, searching for something, and seemingly finding it, his viridescent gaze lighted on her lips, which had her heart stuttering in her chest and the air shuddering from her lungs.

“Don’t think, just do,” he muttered, leaning in, and like lightning, her mind sharpened; she leaned forward, pulling him the minuscule distance to her with a hand on his neck.

Suddenly, she found herself taking flight in a completely different way from five minutes ago.

Pete kissed her like he flew; with complete dedication, and like this was the last moment of pure, unrivaled, unfettered joy he’d ever have again, and her knees went weak, an entirely different thrill rushing through her, as she felt him push her up against Bianca’s fuselage.

She was breathless, she was taking the first breath of air she’d ever had—it was fire, it was light, it was incandescent.

She only realized the burn in her lungs when he drew back, both of them gasping for breath.

“God, you don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he breathed, voice deep and rough, eyes dark.

An actual whimper fell from her lips, and she replied, “Holy shit, I don’t care if it’s done, that’s definitely going in the book.”

He huffed a low chuckle, that devastating smirk on his face. “In that case, you want a little more inspiration?”

“Oh hell, yes,” she breathed, and pulled him back into her.

The End

Previous Part

I very much had an inner debate as to whether the ending of this story was too similar to that of TG:M, but after a lot of soul searching, I decided that this was the only conceivable way to end this.

It starts with the P-51, and it ends with her.

You could call her Mav’s wingwoman, I suppose.

The Hangar, as I learned from an interview I will not be able to dig up from my YouTube history, is actually owned by Tom himself.

He said it in the aforementioned interview, and I honestly should have seen it coming.

The hangar was even featured in the background of the iconic video where Tom took James Corden flying in the P-51, and I am somewhat ashamed to say that I recognized it from shots where you only saw the corner of the building.

Yeah, do me a favor and please don’t bring that up.

“Crispin Crispianish” is a reference to the St. Crispin’s Day speech from Shakespeare’s “Henry V”, from which the title of the WWII book and series “Band of Brothers” is taken.

“Turn and burn” is a colloquial aviation saying which describes being cleared to takeoff from the runway generally without having to hold short of it for any duration of time, which leads to the aircraft immediately turning onto the runway from the taxiway shortly before the pilots push the engine thrust levers to Take Off/Go Around, which produces maximum thrust, and presto change-o, you have a generally expedited takeoff.

“You’d be surprised,” is absolutely a reference to Bradley almost punching Jake’s lights out in TG:M.

Yes, I am aware of the amount of art imitating life here; my writer and myself were very much twinning in our frustration with what we were writing.

You can pry ADHD/Neurodivergent/Genius IQ Mav from my cold, dead hands.

Here we have the answer to why the P-51 is named “Bianca” in my story.

I headcanon Mav has Italian heritage, and I thought this would be a nice way to put it in here.

I also made his mom from Philadelphia, because there’s a Top Gun ‘86 costume test shot of Tom wearing an Eagles sweatshirt, and as a Philly-adjacent girl, I had to somehow reference that even obliquely.

“You’ve suffered so much pain, and it only made you kind,” is an adaptation of a line from “Doctor Who”, which I thought perfectly describes Mav.

Taglist

@ohtobemare

@callsign-skydancer

@permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88

@tadomikiku

@malindacath

@aviatorobsessed

@lynnevanss

@djs8891

If you’d like to join my taglist, just send me an ask!

[sunaria-bees]

"Rest stop"

A sonic fic because I can't sleep and that gave me inspiration

Stuff included:

• Sonic & tails being brothers

• Tails overworking and being angsty

• Sonic being protective

• MY PERSONAL HEAD CANONS (if you do not like them that's fine but please keep that to yourself thanks<3)

Have fun reading!

Sonic stood on top of the workshop, staring out into the horizon as the sun rose. It was the first sun rise of the month, and usually he'd watch it with tails... speaking of, where was he? Normally he'd wait on the roof for sonic to arrive, it wasn't like him to be late.

Hopping down from the roof top, he looked towards the door of the building, seeing it open very slightly made his spines stand up, what if someone had come and kidnapped him, or worse...he just had to make sure he was okay.

He opened the door ever so slightly to check if he was inside, "Tails?" He called out, hearing a response consisting of a few grumbles and a half asleep "I'm awake..." after a few moments. Sonic slid inside, closing the door after himself, he didn't want to leave a draft after all.

"You good bro? You sound like you've been having a rough time" He said while walking to tails side, he was taking notes of tails appearance, seeing the disheveled fur and small coffee stains on his normally pristine white muzzle, it was all enough to set odd some red flags in his mind.

Tails meanwhile waved off the hedgehog, leaving him with a simple "I'm fine" knowing that he was definitely not. He focused on the thing that had been keeping him up for so long, the chaos emeralds. ever since the events that took place on the Starfall islands, tails just couldn't stop thinking of them, he had so many questions and yet so little answers, he wanted...no needed to know how they worked.

"Tails..." sonic said with a sigh as he leaned against the wall, looking at the fox who was clearly dedicated to his work. he had known him for around 10 years now, and through out majority of them, Miles had been one to push his limits, for better or worse at times.

"I just have to do a few more test, if I can just-" He started ranting before being cut off by the hedgehog snapping his fingers and pointing towards the messy workbench, then at the trash bin full of discarded coffee cups from a café just down the road "you know this stuff isn't good for you right?" he said, his ears drooping a little "you mean the coffee or the sleep?" "Tails."

That was the first time sonic had gotten this stern in a long time, normally sonic was pretty laid back when it came to tails working schedule. "sonic, I just...just one more test? then ill go straight to bed I promise." tails said, using the hardest puppy eyes he could muster to try and persuade him.

"sorry bud, but thats a huge no from me." he leaned he moved from the side of the wall and stood straight, tapping his foot against the ground. "now c'mon, lets clean...this up and get you to a nice, comfy bed" he right to where the fox was sitting and extended a hand for him to take, just so he could stand up.

Tails, after a bit of hesitation took his hand, stretching a bit as he did, before any cleaning could be done, he should probably get the kid to bed, he didn't mind cleaning up anyways, its the least he could do after he let him crash on the couch again.

Sonic squatted down next to him, letting tails climb onto his back so he could carry him to bed. as they walked up the stairs to the bedroom, miles had already dozed off into a heavy sleep by the time they had reached the door...just like when they first met, this whole situation was giving him heavy Déjà vu, but he didn't mind it

Once they reached tails bed, sonic slowly moved the sheets so he could place tails down onto the bed very carfully, making sure not to wake him in the process, and eventually tucked him in, ruffling the tuft of fur on his forehead. "g'night little bro..." sonic said, walking towards the door of the room once again, but not before hearing a very faint response from the fully asleep tails

"Night...big bro..."

[hockeywriterrowan]

Road Trip || Cole Caufield x Reader

author's note: first stand alone fic in a while.

summary: Cole and reader head to her brother's lake house for the season, making a couple stops on the way.

pairing: Cole Caufield x hughes!reader

word count: 1.4

warnings: none

The wind flowed through your hair, creating a sense of freedom and adventure, as Cole sped up his car to merge onto the Michigan highway. You had been looking forward to this road trip with Cole for weeks, and the excitement in the air radiated between Cole and you. 

“Slow down there, speed racer,” you teased as Cole playfully swayed to the music. His laughter was infectious, and his smile shone brighter than the sun. You couldn’t help but to join in. It was moments like these that made your friendship special, the joy of sharing simple pleasures and the bond you shared with each passing smile.

As the miles rolled on, you took turn selecting songs, mostly consisting of Taylor Swift and cheesy pop songs from your childhood. Cole would frequently check on you, taking his eyes off the road for a moment until you noticed his looks. 

After a few hours on the road, you pointed out a scenic overlook to stop at to take a break and stretch your legs. 

Cole parked the car, and you both stepped out, the warm sun kissing your tan skin. As you stood at the guardrail, Cole walked up beside you, his arm lightly brushing against yours. You felt a slight tingle in your stomach, suddenly becoming aware of any small movements you made. 

While you started noticing these feelings when you visited Cole in Montreal when he played your twin brother, Jack. Since Cole played with Jack for the USNTDP, the two of you had become friends. A lot of his friends were seemingly too similar to Jack, while Cole brought a new sense of excitement for teenage you. Until this year, you had never felt nervous around Cole. 

Cole shifted and walked back to the car. He was going to grab the sandwiches you packed for the two of you to share. 

“Thank you so much for the sandwich, kind sir,” you joked as the two of you sat on one of the benches. The outlook was fairly stranded, so it was the best spot to view the beautiful outlook.

“Anything for m’lady,” Cole responded, making a small blush rise onto your face as you both shared a laugh.

As you enjoyed your meal, the conversation flowed effortlessly. You talked about everything from all the clients at your job to Cole’s recent failure on the golf course. The more you talked, the more you and Cole grew comfortable together after being apart for several months.

At one point, he leaned in slightly closer, his voice soft, “You know, I’ve been really looking forward to this trip.”

You nodded your head smiling.

“But it isn’t so much about the places I’ll be seeing or that I’ll get to be on the lake once we’re done, it’s about the person I’m riding with,” he admitted.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you felt a rush of warmth. “I feel the same way,” you replied sincerely, your eyes meeting his.

For a moment, time stood still as you gazed at each other, many unspoken words hanging in the air. It was a moment of realization for both you and Cole, marking a subtle shift in your relationship.

As the midday sun started its descent, you packed up the garbage from the sandwiches and headed back to Cole’s car. 

The open road stretched out before the two of you, and the two of you continued on your journey. You and Cole sometimes making eye contact before breaking it awkwardly as you looked at the scenery and he looked back ahead.

As you arrived at a hotel that you both deemed safe enough to stop at, the sky was dark, but happiness still radiated off of both of you. Cole and you came to the front desk of the hotel, asking for a free room.

“We only have rooms with one bed left,” the receptionist stated. 

Cole shrugged, looking back at you, and you did the same.

The two of you went back out to the car and grabbed your bags. You came back into the hotel, and you pulled out the key, unlocking the door and opening the door for Cole who insisted on carrying your extra bag. 

It was then that you realized that it wasn’t a king sized bed but a single queen bed. It wouldn’t be that big of a deal. The two of you had cuddled plenty of times before. But not after you realized your feelings for Cole. He immediately set down the bags and jumped onto the bed as you gently set your bag down on the desk and pulled out your phone charger. 

Then you grabbed clothes to change into after your shower and immediately hopped in.

When you came out of the bathroom, Cole was opening his laptop, preparing to watch a movie. You joined him on the bed, and he clicked on a horror movie. You rolled your eyes, knowing that you guys would just laugh at the stupid characters the whole time. 

As the movie began, the pair shuffled so that the laptop was sat on a pillow draped across their legs as they sat with their backs against the headboard. 

You felt you eyes closing but wanted to stay up to laugh with Cole. Every so often, after your head would fall slightly, you would jerk awake. Cole felt this and the next time that your head fell, he pull you even closer to him and pushed your head onto his shoulder. You felt your heart flutter, and you smiled.

As you closed your eyes, Cole closed the laptop. You matched your breathing to him and he pulled the two down so that you were no longer sitting up. 

-----------

The next morning, your legs were tangled with Cole’s. You smiled and went onto your phone for a couple of minutes until he started to stir. He pulled away slightly but kept his eyes closed. He grinned, and you shook your hand in his brown hair, smiling back.

As he opened his eyes, adjusting to the light, his morning voice shined through, “Hey, early bird.”

You blushed. As long as you guys had been friends, you had never heard his morning voice. He got out of bed to take a shower, and you opened a book to try and at least get some reading time in.

When the two of you were ready, you guys went back to your usual spots in the car for the last leg of your trip to Jack and Quinn’s lake house.

“You know,” Cole leaned in closer while driving, “I can’t stop thinking about that moment at the overlook.”

You turned to him, your eyes meeting his, a playful smirk forming on your lips, “Oh, really? What about it?”

He smirked back, glancing at your, his gaze lingering on your lips for a millisecond, “I don’t know. When you looked at me… it just felt like time stood still. I can’t forget it.”

Your heart raced and you softened, “Yeah. I felt it too.”

The tension grew as you shared stolen glances and smiles. Cole’s hand occasionally brushed against yours, sending shivers down your spine.

As you came into town and stopped at a gas station, he playfully mentioned, “You know, we have always made a pretty good team on the road. Maybe we should go on more adventures together.”

You leaned in closer, feeling brave, your faces inches apart.

“I’d like that,” you replied, your breath mingling with his.

The rest of the journey was filled with similar banter. Each moment brought you slowly closer to the house, anticipation to see your brothers and the other boys electric. 

As you and Cole arrived at your brothers’ lake house, the undeniable chemistry between you two reached a boiling point. The sun was setting, casting a warm, golden glow over the quiet early evening lake.

As you both stepped out of the car and stood in the driveway, Cole felt a magnetic pull towards you. With a sudden burst of courage, he leaned in and gently pressed his lips to yours. You were surprised, and the kiss was so quick you couldn’t even find the time to return the kiss. You felt all the growing emotions that had built up during the road trip and giggled with him, leaning in and hugging Cole to show your regret for the lack of response for the kiss. 

The road trip was only the beginning, but the two of you were ready to continue to develop your friendship into something more as the summer went on.

[handeaux]

Memories From Half A Century Ago; The Cincinnati Tornadoes of April 1974

On the evening of April 3, 1974, your narrator interviewed a woman who found a perfectly new, pristinely crisp, twenty-dollar bill in her front yard. This random occurrence of good luck became newsworthy because her miraculous benefit had floated down into her yard from a passing cloud that had recently spawned an F5 tornado.

At the time, I was not a reporter exactly but everyone that evening became either a reporter or a source. The memory of that day remains so fresh and clear it seems impossible that it transpired exactly fifty years ago.

In the fading afternoon, a heavy storm blew in as I drove a clunky Ford Econoline van from the Hopple Street Viaduct onto Westwood-Northern Boulevard. I was, at that time, a senior at the University of Cincinnati desperately yearning to graduate and move on to the next chapter in my life. To cover tuition, I worked as a printer for the Western Hills Publishing Company. Our offices were on Davis Avenue in Cheviot and our printing presses occupied a floor in the historic Crosley Building on Arlington Street in Camp Washington. My duties as the junior member of the printing crew involved shuttling copy and page flats from the editorial offices to the typesetting and composing staff.

As I climbed out of the valley toward the English Woods housing development, hail scattered across the road. Hailstones rattled on the van’s roof, then pounded, then stomped. It sounded like some gremlin with a baseball bat hammering on the roof as ice balls the size of oranges smashed into the asphalt all around. Tree branches cracked and split and thatched the roadway.

Somehow, I made it to Cheviot and pulled into the Press parking lot. It was full of people, just standing around. I got out and looked at the van. The roof looked like a moonscape, there were so many dents in it.

“Hey! Look at this,” I shouted. No one turned or said a word. And then I saw why.

Stretching from the horizon halfway to zenith was the tornado. It was impossible to comprehend the scale. More than two miles away, we heard no sound except endless sirens calling to one another from every direction. Where we stood transfixed it did not rain. There was no wind. There was only the tornado.

“Look at all that paper swirling around,” someone said.

“Those are garage doors,” another answered.

We watched as the horrendous vision scraped its way northward, the finger of God plowing a furrow along South Road out in Mack. We watched as it withered and lifted and twisted into nothingness against a pallid sky, waving it seemed in farewell at last as it vanished. We stared at each other, silent, unable to find any words.

Gradually, we realized that all the lights were out. There was no power in the offices. The publisher sent me around the corner to a hardware store to buy all the candles they had in stock. It was going to be a long night.

At this point, for the benefit of readers younger than I, it is necessary to explain a few details. The cash register at the hardware store was mechanical. It did not require electricity, much less Wi-Fi, to operate. The editorial offices were stocked with manual typewriters. The telephones were landlines, on a separate network, and functioned even when the power was out. Everyone had a battery-powered radio.

Anyone with the ability to write a coherent sentence became a reporter. I was sent out, still wearing my printshop uniform, in the divotted Econoline, to gather eye-witness reports. I found a small crowd at the Western Hills Country Club who had been herded into a downstairs bar while the sirens howled. They queued up for every available telephone to check in with their families. I found people in shock, wandering through piles of rubble that had been their homes, clutching any random possessions they recovered. I saw ambulances backed up in a line, waiting for utility poles and power lines to be moved. I saw people wrapped in blankets, standing in the middle of nothing left, sobbing on each other’s shoulders.

There were people who swore they saw two funnel clouds and people who claimed there were four, twisting like snakes in the sky. There were people who confessed to being so transfixed by the surreal wonder of the twister that they stood paralyzed as it swooped down on their houses.

And, in the curious way the universe laughs at we mere humans, I found humor.

There was the guy who, in a dispute with his insurance company, was photographing damage to his roof when the warning sirens erupted. He saw the funnel approaching and dove into his basement. When he emerged, his roof was gone, and so was the rest of his house, but he bragged that he had the photos to press his prior claim.

I talked to one of the rescue workers who told me about a kid, maybe 15 or 16 years old, who approached him and begged him to hide a bottle of vodka. The kid didn’t want his mother to know he had the bottle hidden in his bedroom – the bedroom that was now nothing more than a debris field.

Meanwhile, at the University of Chicago, Dr. Theodore Fujita drafted a questionnaire to be sent to almost every newspaper, every radio station, every television station in the country. Dr. Fujita asked a lot of questions about the duration and intensity of the 148 confirmed tornadoes reported that day. He and Allen Pearson of the National Severe Storms Forecast Center hoped to refine the tornado classification system they had created just three years previously. Someone at the Press filled out the questionnaire and sent it back.

A year later, having graduated from the university and transferred to the newsroom, I found a largish cardboard tube lying amid the usual pile of news releases and complaint letters that constituted our daily mail. On opening the tube – it was addressed to no one in particular – I found a map of the eastern United States titled “Superoutbreak Tornadoes of April 3-4, 1974.” Dr. Fujita, compiling all those questionnaires, had mapped and labeled every one of those 148 tornadoes.

In the center of the map, there was my tornado, the only tornado I have seen with my own eyes, officially designated as an F5 monster.

[gothcsz]

𝑻𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒇𝒂𝒓𝒆 / Chapter I.

PAIRING: Javier Peña x Original Female Character

SUMMARY: Javier gets acquainted with his new job and new life in small town, Texas.

WORD COUNT: 6.7k

RATING:   18+ Mature topics such as sex, drugs, murder, the occult, religion, cannibalism and other triggering matters will be explored in this body of work. Minors DNI.

CHAPTER SPECIFIC TAGS: Mutual pining, talks of homicide, they really wanna fuck each other, beginning of a beautiful slow burn, lots of smoking, southern gothic vibes are strong with this one, if you love worldbuilding then this is the fic for you, mentions of a religious cult, subtle slutshaming.

DISCLAIMER/WARNINGS:   The Javier Peña referenced in this body of work is solely based off of the character that appears in Netflix’s Narcos and not the actual person. Very canon divergent and I will tweak things as I see fit to compliment the narrative of this story. While efforts have been made to be accurate in terms of canon timeline, a lot of details will be fictionalized.

A/N: it’s official, i am now licensed! lol jk jk but hooray to a first chapter! i’ve been working on this thing non stop trying to get the characterization and dynamic and overall voice of the story down pat. i had so much fun writing this tbh and i hope the person reading this enjoyed… well… reading it! i’m still trying to get the hang of writing/posting a whole ass fic while also learning how AO3/Tumblr works so pls be GENTLE with me *cries* i'm not sure what the upload schedule will be yet but just know ya girl is devoting all her free time to this currently.... anyways feel free to drop any type of feedback in my ask. < 3

♰  read on ao3. ♰

♰  playlist | pinterest | series masterlist ♰

Javier Peña doesn’t know if he should see this reassignment as a good thing. He had gotten himself in a pretty hairy situation down in Colombia. His involvement with a death squad and the cartel had him pulled from the biggest case of his career right as they were on the verge of catching Escobar… and only he is to blame for that. He crossed a boundary with himself, gotten innocent people killed and what exactly does he have to show for it?

A reassignment to a small, shitty town in the middle of Texas. 

At least in South America he had a great view to cope with the shitty happenings. The lush mountains of Medellín that stretched for miles and miles, the bustling of the the country’s capitol, Bogotá, or the portrait perfect skyline of Cali. 

Here, it’s just dirt roads with barbed wired fences lining the vast amounts of grassy lands. Occasional livestock litter the area; Seminary’s only lifeline is farming since most of the families that reside here own ranches or crop fields. The town is able to sustain itself with what it produces, therefore not needing many additional businesses. Just a few blocks of shops and civil buildings. No hospital but a doctor’s office with one singular clinician, a grindhouse, some boutiques, a bakery, a very small post office that shares its space with the local newspaper.

Typical spaces you’d find in a settlement like this.

He can’t change his past and all his wrongdoings. Instead, Javier can try and see the fucking silver lining of the situation; that he finally has time to catch his breath… to slow down, for once. The concept is foreign to him. He’s been fleeing from it since he was an adolescent.

A fact that his father, Chucho, had brought up when Javier told the older man of his new job.

“Seminary? ¿Donde putas es eso? (Where the fuck is that?)”

“Couple hours southwest of El Paso. A smidge on the map.”

“A smidge on the map sounds like exactly what you need, hombre (man).” His pops tells him, taking a swig from his beer as the two lean against the wooden fence that keeps the herd of horses from running amuck.

Javi doesn’t say anything, instead gazing out into the vastness of the family ranch.

“All that craziness down there in Colombia te pudre le mente. El cuerpo. (It rots your mind. Your body.) And I’ll be damned if a heart attack takes you out before me.” The men chuckle briefly, sounding just alike.

“Comes with its own shit. A damn ‘cult’.” Javi scoffs, taking a smooth drag from the cigarette between his lips. “Least that’s what the locals think. Could just be a damn serial killer.” No different from what he’s experienced with the cartel.

“Shit is goin’ to be anywhere you go, hijo (son), pero se me hace a mi (it seems to me) that the shit they got goin’ on in Seminary is much more manageable than la mierda con Escobar (the shit with Escobar).” Just hearing his name has Javier clenching his jaw subconsciously and Chucho takes notice.

“Just an old man’s opinion. Take this time to look within. Figure out the type of man you want to be after being chewed up and spat out of Colombia.” Another swig of beer, “Pero eres tan bruto, nunca me haces caso (but you’re so stubborn, you never listen to me). ”

“In a shocking turn of events, this might be the one time I do.” Javier snuffs out the finished cigarette against the wooden pole, tossing it aside carelessly and crossing his arms against his chest. “But don’t get your hopes up. ”

“As long as you don’t drink the damn kool aid, vaz a estar bien (you’re going to be fine).” The father and son share another laugh, this time much more lighthearted.

Javi blinks slowly behind the aviators that sit on the bridge of his nose, the bright and grueling Texas sun beaming down on him harshly. Finishing his cigarette, he pushes himself off the hood of his restored Ford pickup truck. He’s been sitting outside of Seminary’s Sheriff’s Department for about ten minutes now, the small building located right in the middle of town very easy to find.

Then again, it wasn’t hard to get lost in a place this small.

It is unimpressive and has the makings of any other small town government building. An American flag flown proudly above Texas’s, the lettering that labeled the building faded due to being unkept and time. 

Javier knows that the dread he feels comes from not being able to sit still. It’s why he found some kind of pleasure working down in Colombia. Things were always moving at a fast pace, albeit he had done a lot of pencil pushing and running down the clock, but the city itself was bustling with life and culture that kept him on go even when he was idle. 

Here, however, the stillness is suffocating and he wonders how the people of Seminary can breathe. 

Is this sentiment what sparked the murders? Had someone finally had enough of the mundane and decided to spruce things up?

His eyes narrow, if he continues to stand out here any longer, the sheriff will begin to wonder if the new guy had bailed before even coming in.

He jogs up the steps that lead up to the main building, taking them two at a time then pushing open the worn, glass door of the entrance; removing his sunglasses and letting them hang from the collar of the cream colored button up shirt he’s wearing. 

He takes in his surroundings and somehow he feels like he and Murphy had more space back at the embassy than what they have here. 

There’s a front desk to the immediate right being tended to by an older woman with fiery red hair that’s got reading glasses on, too engrossed in her novel to notice that he’s stepped in.

Other than that, it's everything one would expect a sheriff’s department to look like. Desks pushed together here and there, singular ceiling fan lazily spinning in the center of the room, a break room tucked to the back, the hallway that led to detaining rooms and other necessary spaces, variety of office supplies and filing cabinets.

It almost looks too normal.

“Need somethin’, dear?” He is returned to himself as the older woman finally takes notice of him with a friendly smile, her eyes not so subtly giving him a once over. “We don’t usually get hunks ‘round here. You must be lost, sugar.”

Javier smirks, even without trying he’s got women smitten.

“Fortunately for you, ma’am, seems like I’m in the right place. Javier Peña, new Deputy Sheriff.” He strolls over to her desk, leaning against it as he reaches his hand out for her to shake. 

She lets out a warm laugh and they shake hands in which Javi notices a soft pink tint of blush on the apples of her cheeks. “Fortunately for me indeed. I’m Lorraine, darlin’, I pretty much run everythin’ ‘round here but don’t you go tellin’ Romeo that.” She winks at him.

“Don’t go tellin’ Romeo what now, Lorraine? That you’re gunnin’ for my job?” A boisterous voice interrupts them and Javier immediately recognizes it to be the sheriff. 

“Oh, I thought that was somethin’ we all already knew?”

“Hate to say it but she’s right. Works circles around me that one. Romeo Leighton. Great to have you here, Javier.” The sheriff now speaks to Javier directly, and he takes this as a sign to straighten his posture and formally introduce himself as well.

The man has a good fifteen years on Javi, standing a few inches taller with a much more worn look to him. He’s a bit skinny yet built, except for the typical beer belly most southern men tend to have. A scruffy and short beard with unruly hair that’s a mix of grays and dark browns.

“Thanks for having me.” The two share a brief handshake, “M’sure you two could handle the town all on your own, so I appreciate you making room for a plus one.” Javier decides to turn on the good ‘ol southern charm and it seems to land as intended as the atmosphere in the room remains friendly and the sheriff chuckles.

“Look at him catchin’ on so quick. We just might not let you go, amigo.” Lorraine playfully rolls her eyes and reaches over to pass the older man a stack of files. “These just came in from Rankin County.”

“You got here just in time. We got some new developments on the murders.” And just like that, the lively talk is over and they get right into the job. 

“Heard there were mentions of a group of some sorts?” Javier brings it up, wanting to get a gauge on the sheriff’s reaction instead of just reading about it through reports.

“Just rumors. Nothing concrete to back it up.”

The two men now find themselves in Romeo’s office, each smoking a cigarette with multiple files sprawled across the wooden desk.

Here’s what they know: three woman murdered along the highway that these towns share all within a year. They sustained multiple stab wounds, yet the fatal insertion was that of a sharp blade going straight through the heart. The men don’t know if that was intentional or accidental due to the amount of times their chests had been punctured.

It is gruesome, to say the least, but nothing that Javier hasn’t seen before, unfortunately. The way the cartel got creative with their murders just to send a message to their rivals had him exposed to many atrocities; he was desensitized to most forms of violence. Yet, the passion behind these crimes and unclear motive has piqued Javi’s interest the more they discussed it. 

“Then again… it could be nothin’. Just a giant, fucked up coincidence.” The sheriff grumbles, clearly frustrated by the lack of information.

“No, I don’t think so. Too similar of a killing method. Any clue what weapon was used?” Javier leans forward in the uncomfortable, leather chair to ash his cigarette and sifting through the papers, trying to find the coroner’s reports for all three victims.

“Some kind of dagger or knife. Thought it might have been a huntin’ knife but all the wounds were clean cut. No serrated edges on the weapon.”

Javi hums, going over the details in his head for the millionth time trying to see the picture that was so clearly painted in front of him.

There was just simply not enough evidence to make anything out of it. On top of that, the assailant hasn’t struck again in months. A good thing for the general public but not for them if they have any intention of bringing justice to the families of the victims and catching whoever was behind these heinous crimes.

Javier also realizes that while these murders were tame to him, they were most certainly not tame to the people around here. Atrocities as these simply didn’t happen in places like Seminary and surrounding areas. Now that they were dealing with the aggressive reality of humanity, it was shaking them to their core.

So much so that the God fearing townsfolk began spreading rumors that the devil had its eye on the town and already infiltrated the progressive minds of the local youth.

“There’s always some truth to rumors, you know.” Javi begins, gray smoke flooding out from his mouth and nostrils as he puffs out from the nicotine stick, “Someone must’ve seen or heard somethin’ to implicate the younger crowd. ”

The sheriff leans back in his chair, using his thumb to rub out the concentrated frown that had etched itself between his brows, “People ‘round here are pretty stuck in their ways, myself included at times, they don’t like the way this new generation is comin’ up. Barely goin’ to church, spendin’ more time at the bar than at work. How sexual music’s gotten. Small shit like that gets people talkin’. It’s annoyin’ but it’s just talk.”

Javier is going to have to polish his interpersonal skills. Something larger could be at play here so he makes a mental note to go out and talk to these people himself to get a better feeling for what the general sentiment is.

Hell, he might even start going back to church. He can’t remember the last time he step foot in one. With what all had transpired further south; he’d lost his faith entirely. There was so much evil and greed in the world, he felt helpless at the realization that even religion became aversive to him. 

“M’sure somethin’ll come up eventually.” Javier decides to be optimistic, struggling to do so but also wanting to turn over a new leaf, “In the meantime we’ll just have to make do with what we got. It’s been a while since the fucker struck so maybe they're done. Got a taste for it and decided they didn’t like it.” He finishes off his cigarette, stubbing it out and leaning back against the chair.

“A fresh set of eyes will really help with that. Appreciate you comin’ here, Peña. Don’t know much about your time down in Colombia but I can imagine it was rough. This is a massive change for you. Goin’ from damn drug traffickers to a coupla girls gettin’ stabbed on the side of a highway.” The older man continues to puff on his cigarette, his statement falling flat and almost in bad taste but Javier doesn’t say anything, instead shrugging. 

“I got a job— M’not complaining’.” That was almost not the case, and a nasty feeling at the pit of his gut stirs at the remembrance of his meeting with the board in D.C. in a few weeks to get his official reprimanding for his ties with Los Pepes. 

Javi is surprised that the Sheriff doesn’t bring up Judy Moncada’s quotes from the Miami Herald. Either he wasn’t informed or he simply did not care.

“That’s the spirit. What do you have goin’ on tonight?” Romeo begins, changing the subject entirely, and Javier can sense an invitation incoming. “‘Cause I’d love to have ya over for dinner. Give you a proper introduction to Seminary. You can meet my daughter, Paloma, too.” The sheriff then picks up one of the framed photos on his desk, turning it over for Javier to see.

A portrait of a stunning young woman sporting a cowboy hat, smiling brightly at the camera.

“Ain’t she a beaut?” He pulls the picture back, asking rhetorically and Javier clears his throat. 

For a moment he contemplates the dinner invitation, part of him wanting to be alone in the comfort of his new space but the other part wanting to just throw himself into this to keep his mind occupied and away from the grueling memories of the lengthy time he’d spent in Colombia.

“Sure, I’ll come by.” He decides. If he thought about it for a second longer, he’d talk himself out of going.

A large, friendly grin spreads on Romeo’s face and he nods, finally finishing off his cigarette. “Alright now, you can stop by ‘round 7.” He moves some of the files aside revealing a notepad and he digs in his shirt pocket to pull out a pen. Scribbling down his address messily onto the blank piece of paper, he tears it off and leans over to hand it to Javier.

“Not that hard to get to.” Javier nods curtly and takes the paper, folding it and stuffing it into his back pocket.

It’s later in the day, the sun cascading into the distance; its hues of deep oranges and reds softening as the night sky begins to take over.

Paloma sits on the rocking chair that matches her father’s out on the porch. A guitar nestled in her lap and personal booklet resting on the arm of the chair as she strums lightly, building the chorus of her new song out loud. She takes the pencil from behind her ear and jots down something quickly and messily, returning to strumming and humming simultaneously.

“Paloma!” She hears the loud voice of her father practically making the walls shake as he calls out for her from his bedroom that was on the other side of the house. They often opened all the doors and windows to allow the soft breeze to flow throughout their space. 

She groans, stopping her actions as the melody she was on the brink of figuring out leaves her entirely.

“What, daddy?!” She yells back, waiting for his reply which never comes.

He does this all the time.

Cursing quietly, Paloma stands from her comfortable spot, gently leaning her guitar against the wall then walking in to the house.

She finds Romeo exiting his bedroom and walking towards her, bottle of his good scotch in hand with a relieved look on his face. “Couldn’t find the goddamn liquor. Thought you had nabbed it from me.” He pinches her nose as he walks by her, in which she scrunches her face at the action. It's something he’s done since she was a little girl. It can be endearing but most of the time; it was just annoying.

“That’s the good stuff, daddy. I would never.” She follows behind him as they enter the kitchen, “Man must’ve left quite an impression for ya to be bustin’ out the crown jewel.” She watches as he begins to set out the dinnerware for tonight, and that’s when she realizes how late it has gotten.

It’s easy for Paloma to lose herself in her music. She has been able to since she was a child. Her mother had nursed the hobby the moment she saw how truly talented her daughter was. In return, Paloma became skillful in being able to play damn near any instrument put in front of her. And she could sing, too.

Beautifully.

“Javier’s got a sharp mind that I can use ‘round here. Thinkin’ I can finally start makin’ some damn progress. That deserves a special drink, don’t ya think? Come help me set the table.” She obliges, thinking her father’s words over.

The murders have been weighing heavily on his shoulders since they began. All the time and effort he’s put in to make the puzzle pieces fit only to come up empty handed. Paloma doesn’t know the specifics of it, just what he rants to her here and there. He doesn’t like to bring his work home.

Romeo has been away a lot since putting his entire focus on the cases. Many nights spent at the office but he at least tries to share one meal with his daughter throughout the week. Paloma understands this, and like always she gives him his space and doesn’t complain about it. 

The only reason she’s stuck around Seminary for so long is for him. He wouldn’t know what to do without her.

“Well I’m glad things are lookin’ up, finally. Can’t wait to meet this sharp thinkin’ Javier.” They finish setting up and Paloma excuses herself to go get changed into something a little more dressy seeing as her father was looking more put together than usual.

He must really be trying to make an impression.

Her room is on the second floor, alongside her childhood playroom and the empty room that contained some miscellaneous items.

Like her mother’s things.

Paloma always has a habit of letting her gaze linger at the closed, white wooden door of the room every time she passes it. In a strange way, she feels like her mother is standing behind that door; just waiting for her to open it and greet her like her daughter wishes she could.

But she hardly ever does, the sorrow feeling in her chest too heavy for her to bear being in there for longer than a few minutes.

She passes it with a quick glance, now entering her bedroom and throwing open her wardrobe doors. It’s a mess, like it usually is, but it’s an organized chaos that only Paloma Leighton could decipher. 

After eyeing some outfits, she decides on a cream toned, linen romper with shorts. It has a deep V cut in the front that tastefully exposed some of the tanned skin between her breasts. However, she puts on a matching lace bralette underneath to soften the risqué of the outfit.

Her hair is the brown of aged mahogany. Long and thick, it falls almost to her waist and she does nothing but brush it out. It naturally falls the way she likes. A beautifully sculpted cross necklace hangs from her neck; it was her mother’s and she’d given it to Paloma shortly before passing. She finishes getting ready by spritzing some of her perfume and applying lip gloss before sauntering down the steps.

She hears the soft sound of her father’s record playing some old school country tune, the song sounding throughout the house and she smiles gently. She crosses the threshold and is out on the porch to gather her things from earlier when she catches the headlights of a vehicle coming down the elongated driveway of the property.

That must be him.

“Daddy, your friend’s here!”

Javier got a chance to get to get acquainted with the town before his dinner with the sheriff. He wandered around the shops and establishments that littered the main street of Seminary, drove the backroads then up and down the highway a few times to get a feel for how he would approach his new job. 

The conclusion he’s come to is that the town, for the most part, is harmless. But he’s only been here one afternoon so what the hell does he know?

After his exploration, he finally made it to the place he would be calling home until further notice. A dingy yet quaint trailer home located on about two acres of land. It has everything he requires. Furnished neatly and stocked with all the cooking utensils he could ever need but ultimately never use. Javier found himself more comfortable after unpacking the few items he’d brought along with him.

Maybe his father was right. Maybe he can finally slip into some normalcy.

But he’s only been here one afternoon so what the hell does he know?

After a stop at the local bakery, an ‘if you blink you’ll miss it’ type of establishment, and the purchase of some homemade banana pudding; the man is driving up a dirt path to Romeo’s home.

The sheriff lives on an impressive mount of land, his house looking like something plucked straight out of an old southern painting. A large, two story home with a wraparound porch. A typical white picket fence surrounds the immediate area. The landscaping is beautiful, it looks very well tended to and he can hear Chucho’s voice ringing in the back of his head.

“¿Vez? Que te dije (see? what did I tell you)— peaceful.” 

He cuts the engine of his Ford, checking his appearance in the rearview mirror before grabbing the tinfoil container from the passenger’s seat and getting out.

The first thing he sees as he approaches the front door are long, tan legs that lead up to some full and soft looking thighs that instantly have him licking his lips.

And who is this?

“Good evening, ma’am.” His deep voice cuts through the sound of the summer evening, his Texan accent thick. The sounds of toads croaking in the distance and different insects chirping about set a pleasant ambiance for the southern night.

The woman stands alert at the sound of his voice and turns to face him, which causes Javi to damn near lose his breath at the sight of the beauty in front of him.

It is the same woman that Romeo had shown him earlier, except the picture didn’t do her natural beauty any justice. She’s got the most gorgeous features he’s ever seen on a woman, and he’s been around a lot of beautiful women. 

Her lips are pouty and pink, the gloss she’s wearing accentuates their plushness so well. Honey colored brown eyes that even from where he stands can see twinkle with curiosity beneath the soft porch lights. Freckles sprinkle across her nose and the tops of her cheeks complimented by her natural blush. 

Damn.

“You must be Javier. I’m Paloma, Romeo’s daughter.” She smiles at him in which he can’t help but mirror as she sets down the guitar in her possession and he slowly walks up the porch steps.

Well, this certainly is a pleasant surprise. When Paloma’s father had told her about the new guy that was joining the department, she just pictured some run of the mill, old looking man. One that looked like every other one of his colleagues. 

She most definitely wasn’t expecting such a handsome man like the one that’s in front of her.

“Paloma.” The way her name falls from his lips with a Spanish accent has her stomach erupting in butterflies.

She’s never heard anyone say it like that.

“Beautiful name. Very fitting.” The flirtatious compliment is one she’s heard too many times to count, but hearing it come from him makes it feel like the sweetest thing she’s ever heard. Their close proximity has her catching a whiff of his cologne mixed with.. cigarettes?

Her thighs clench involuntarily.

Javier takes her hand in his as she extends it to greet him. Instead of going in for a handshake, he brings it up to his lips and places a soft kiss against her knuckles. It has her tingling all over; electricity sprouting from the spot where the kiss is planted. She can’t help the way her blush deepens at the action, and she almost wants to slap herself for reacting so easily.

Dating isn't a priority in Paloma’s life. Any man worth having in this town is already taken and the rest are nothing but a waste of time. Just some fun for her to have, hooking up with a handful of them whenever her fingers couldn’t get the job done. 

It is rare when there's an eligible newcomer and even then she is too preoccupied with keeping the family home in shape and her music to even think about dating. She is aware of the way the gossips in town talk about her, disliking that she is a single and childless twenty-six year old woman.

“She should be married by now. At her age I already had three kids.”

“It’s so sad, really.”

“I’ve heard she’s given it up to about half the boys in town.”

They gasp and glance over at her over their shoulders. Paloma pretends she doesn’t see them do this.

Her true love, aside from music, is that of traveling. She wants nothing more than to leave Seminary all together and head west, see what the rest of the world has to offer. Take a chance on her music... make a name for herself.

Unfortunately for her, she’s got some heavy family ties here in Texas (her father) and after the death of her mother— she wouldn’t dare leave him. The guilt would eat her alive.

Was it fair for her to give up her aspirations just to keep one person happy? No… but things aren’t always fair and she has a decent life here in Seminary. She doesn't have to worry about paying any bills or surviving on her own; though she knows she’s more than capable of doing so if she really had to. She only has that job at the library to help pass the time whenever she’s not buried in a book or playing her day away on the piano. Any money she receives is stashed away in an old jewelry box in the back of her closet in case one day she finally decides to leave.

All that to say that romantically, men aren't something she focuses on. However, this man in particular, she could spare some of her attention to. Something about his swagger is attractive. He shifts his weight onto one foot and pokes his hip out slightly; giving her a good view of his built figure.

“Clever and charming. Guess daddy was right about you.” Paloma cocks her head to the side slightly, taking in his appearance better now that he was closer and damn, is he handsome. The type of handsome that you only see on TV. 

He’s clad in a long sleeve, forest colored shirt with a few buttons undone at the top; a gold chain teasing her against his brown skin. He’s rolled the sleeves up on the shirt up to his elbows and she notices how rugged he looks, veins on his forearms flexing ever so slightly. Tight cowboy jeans are paired with some expensive looking brown leather boots and a nice belt to tie it all in together.

Her eyes travel up from his body to his countenance, noticing how truly handsome and mature he is. Like he’s experienced things she’d never come close to imagining. She wants to know it all. The full 70s looking pornstache above his lip somehow very appealing to Paloma, whose ‘type’ up until this moment has been clean cut, military boys.

He is anything but clean cut, and she likes that. 

His lips full, nose very distinguished with a devilish curve and… stable looking. A perfect seat for her to perch herself on. She can practically feel it nudging against her clit before he completely devours her.

A lazy yet cocky lopsided smile tugs at his lips, as if he can see the filthy thoughts in her head. “Already talking me up, I see.” he greets Romeo, whom Paloma hadn’t realized had stepped outside since she was too preoccupied eye fucking the stranger in front of her. 

“Didn’t tell her nothin’ that wasn’t true. What’s that you got there?” The older man gestures to the container.

“I could spot Betty’s homemade banana puddin’ with my eyes closed.” Paloma speaks up, trying to recover from the slight embarrassment she feels for thinking so sinfully about him.

Javier’s onyx colored eyes meet hers again and she looks away almost bashfully, occupying herself by finally gathering her things.

“I couldn’t show up empty handed. Ma woulda slapped me right upside the head. Where are your manners, niño (boy) ?” He does what she would assume is an impression of his mother and this gets a giggle out of her.

She is utterly interested in getting to know him better.

“On behalf of us, you can thank your mother for instilling manners into ya. Come on in, we cleaned for once.” He jokes, ushering his company in and she just rolls her eyes playfully at her father’s antics.

The night turns out to be very enjoyable for Javi. He is in good company and the dinner provided, cooked by Paloma since she didn’t let her father take credit for any of it, definitely helped soothe over some of the smaller, sore spots left by Colombia. 

They laugh and swap stories, Javier shares some of his more lighthearted moments in the country down south while Paloma and Romeo try to out-embarrass each other with different family tales.

It helps to have some eye candy, though, as he finds it difficult to keep his eyes away from her longer than a few seconds. Even while the sheriff is in direct conversation with him, Javier can see her from his peripheral and how she also can’t seem to peel her gaze from him.

Murphy always gave him a ‘hard time’ about his effect on women and how Javier used it to his advantage. It’s the only way he got shit rollin’ down in Colombia. The only people that approached him willingly were the working ladies that resided in the city.

And who was he to turn down a good, even great time?

Quickly enough, word had spread amongst the girls and next thing he knew; he had a list of ‘informants’ so long that even he began to lose track.

It was simple, getting information from them then taking them back to his place… his car… or the bar restroom. Whatever was most convenient.

Most of the time they would come to him with bullshit leads just to see him again, and most of the time he would just give them what they wanted, which was just another blissful night with Agent Peña.

Something about Paloma, however, gives him the impression that he wouldn’t fuck her how he did those girls down south. Not unless she asked… begged him to, at least.

He’d make sure to kiss every inch of her golden skin, make her feel good and satisfied before burying himself deep inside her. What’d he do to see those pretty lips parted with his name falling from them like a prayer.

“You should sing him somethin’. ”

Romeo’s suggestion has Javier raising his brows and snapping him out of his thoughts.

They’ve moved out onto the porch, taking in the peacefulness of the night and the clear view of all stars the littered the unobscured sky. The banana pudding long gone.

“I am not some show pony you can just make do tricks whenever you like, old man.” She retorts playfully from her spot on the top of the porch steps, meddling with the rings on her fingers.

From this angle, Javier is able to get a better look at those thighs he’s been fantasizing about all night. Is it a terrible move to go after your quote un quote ‘bosses’ daughter after just meeting her? Probably, but Javi’s done worse and he’s picked up that she seems to be very keen to his subtle advances. Or not subtle, depending on how well he is able to hide any type of direct flirtation with his natural charisma.

“You shy to?” Javi asks her, lighting the cigarette that rests between his lips. He is a pro at chain smoking, this making it the fourth one he’s smoked in the last hour that they’ve been out here. 

She snorts, shaking her head and looking over at him. When their gazes meet, he can’t help the shadow of a smirk hover his lips and she slightly narrows her eyes at him.

“That one? Shy? The last damn word I’d use to describe her.” Romeo takes a swig from the scotch he’s poured, pointing at his daughter. “Sometimes I can’t get her to shut up.”

“Wow, and father of the year goes to…” She replies sarcastically, standing which allows Javier to let his eyes linger over her body, taking a long drag from the cigarette to keep his perverted thoughts at bay.

Like how he wanted to feel her thighs wrapped around his waist. Or better, his head.

“I’m just teasin’. She’s got such an angelic voice, I never get tired of hearin’ her sing.” The sincerity in Romeo’s tone pulls Javier out of his ogling, attention now over to the older man. 

“You should come see her at The Whiskey Fox weekend nights. Puts on one hell of a show.” She leans back against the railing, crossing one foot over the other. This causes the shorts of her romper to rise up slightly, exposing more of her skin.

Like a moth to a flame, he’s eyeing her once more but doesn’t make it as obvious. He wouldn't want to be chased out of here by a shotgun wielding, overprotective father.

“Is The Whiskey Fox the spot to go to in town?” Javier asks to no one in particular, ashing his cigarette on the small plate that sits on the small table between him and the sheriff.

“More like the only spot in town. It’s a bar with a stage, n’they have the best loaded fries. Swear.” She informs him, once again commanding his undivided attention.

No matter how many times he looks at her, he’s still taken aback by how breathtakingly beautiful she is.

“Well if you swear then I guess I’ll have to stop by some time.” He nods his head towards her and she smiles softly, pushing herself off the railing.

“Just give me a heads up when you decide to make your first appearance.” He hears a hint of flirtatiousness in her statement, as if she’s rolling the ball in his court to make the first move. 

As badly as he wants to take her up on that, thinking on a whim like he always has; Javier stops from doing so. This was a chance for him to start anew, amend for all the mistakes he made in Colombia.

But she’s making it very difficult for him to.

Did he really have any intention of changing if all it takes to throw caution in the wind is one pretty girl?

“As much as I’d love to stay in the pleasure of y’alls company….” She runs her hands down the front of her outfit and begins to head inside, “I have to be up early to open the library. You still takin’ me, daddy?” She asks the sheriff softly, stopping by the front door and Javier looks away, glancing out into the distance.

The older man grumbles out, “Yeah. We gotta get that car of yours up and runnin’ though. Don’t know how many free rides I got left in me.” The statement piques Javier’s interest and he can’t help but to rejoin the conversation.

“Got car problems?” He looks between them two, gaze lingering over her as she speaks up. 

“Yeah, my Darla quit on me ‘bout a month ago. Mechanic in town can’t seem to fix the problem.” Paloma seems annoyed by that fact and that has him offering to help before his own brain can stop him from doing so.

“I restored my truck. Had some help from my pops but I pretty much got her up and runnin’ all by myself.” Javier takes another puff of his cigarette, keeping a small smirk at bay as he catches Paloma’s attention drift over to his vehicle in interest. “I wouldn’t mind takin’ a look at yours. If that’s okay. ”

Her father also lets out a sign of content, “That’d be fuckin’ great, Javi. Godsend this guy, poppin’ into town and helpin’ me solve all my goddamn problems. What’s it been— not even a day? Shiiit.” Romeo lets out a laugh, finishing off the contents in his short glass.

Javier would usually find this amount of praise annoying–– ass kissing to keep him content in the shitty position he’s been put it in. However, in this instance, he doesn’t really mind it. It would also give him an opportunity to get to know Paloma better without it crossing over into more nefarious territory.

“Yeah, very sweet of you. I’d really appreciate that.” Yet another glimpse of her enchanting smile. She bends down to place a kiss on her father’s cheek and then waves at him. “Good night y’all. It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Peña.” Even though Javi had already told her to call him by his first name earlier, he can’t help but enjoy the way his surname pushes past her lips. That sweet voice of hers sounding like pure honey.

“Pleasure’s all mine, Miss Leighton.”

[timelessmulder]

31 Days of Horror Day 5: Clutch

Tree roots stretched below the old forest road, cracking the ancient pavement that no one bothered to repave for years. If not decades, Herb thought, gritting and grinding his teeth. The undercarriage of his car rattled like loose change in a dryer; suspension coils long over due for repairs jolting against the uneven ground to rearrange his spine.

The radio spat out bursts of language amongst the drone of static; thin peels of music, indistinguishable voices with unintelligible words. Rising and falling, pushing and pulling, lost in the white noise of a transmission grasping for connection. Herb's skin twitched from quivering nerves, his whole body taut like a bow ready to be fired. His fingers twitched to turn it off, making him curl them tighter around worn vinyl of the steering wheel; he dared not do it. 

He sucked in a deep breath of musky, humid air. At least it was cool. The AC in his car had not worked almost as long as he had owned it, and despite many a brutal summer he'd never felt the need to get it repaired. He could always open the windows, enjoy the rush of air from barreling down 95. And like hell he was going to do that creeping in the middle of the woods at half past midnight, in the middle of absolute nowhere.

The tires crunched and bounced, the engine hummed. A country singer crooned, there and gone. In the woods, the trees groaned and creaked from the immense weight of an unseen being.

He swore, nipped the tip of his tongue when jaw snapped shut. He caught his breath and held it. A hand darted out to switch off the high beams and plunge the world back into darkness, only given a faint glow by the headlights. It was enough, out there. And maybe whatever it was following after him had not noticed.

Another spattering of static, another voice folding out of the noise. Someone searching for another soul to hear, shouting into the void: won't stop. A logical person would have caught the cadence, the studio perfect pop, even buried in the disjointed cacophony. But her voice was soon swallowed whole and Herb only heard what he wanted to hear, venturing deeper into the hungry forest devouring Pinefield, Connecticut.

Out here the town thinned. A cluster of residential streets turned to one or two turned to nothing for miles, leaving just the ancient trees in their eternal vigil and the creatures lurking in the underbrush. The only humans for miles were those who passed over peaceful hotels in a small town, thinking they could make it to Massachusetts before stopping for the night. But those who called Pinefield home were...strange. Strange in ways he could not put a finger on, when he had ventured into a diner for a quick dinner.

Everyone spoke in a round about sort of way. The kind of way people get when there is something hanging over their heads but they will not talk about it; they will not look it in its face. No one would look him in the eye, their smiles stretched too thin when they spoke to him. In the end he had gotten his fries and shake to go.

He glanced at the dashboard clock. Quarter to midnight. The darkness wrapped around the car. It seeped into the cracks in the doors, under the hood, slipping between the insulation and rubber tubing meant to keep it all out.

The thing in the woods strode closer, the ground rumbling and shaking with every silent foot fall. Herb's heart jumped in his throat; something flicked a switch in his brain. He punched the high beams back on into blinding clarity (he could see it he could see the form of an ambling creature in the forest of trees out of the corner of his eye), and he pulled at the gear shift, muscle memory falling away to make room for a baser instinct. What need did prey animals have, to know how cars worked?

The car shuddered. The car stalled. Herb pulled it into park in the middle of the road.

Herb sat in the car, still now. He stared straight ahead at the open road, miles away from a quaint little house with its quaint little people. Heart fluttered and breath labored, chest locking up. The thing in the woods turned its trajectory. It was getting closer. Herb could only close his eyes as he waited; for his car to start. For the damn thing to show itself. The radio continued to spit discordant noise.

The trees stopped their creaking. The world stilled. He dared a moment to crack open his eye, and there, in the middle of the road, stood a deer. It stared back at him with marble black eyes, ears alert and twisting this way and that for signs of any danger. Poised to run away, its very stance light and delicate and still so very powerful. Herb blinked his eyes open and relief flooded through him, the current so strong it ached.

He waited for it to pass. It would gather its bearings and leap back into the woods to live another day. And so too would he, move on to the next town and find a place to sleep. If any hotels were still open with vacancies, anyway. He could stay the night in his car if he had to, that was fine by him. He just needed out of Pinefield and never look back at the damn town again.

But the deer did not move. It did not begin a slow amble back into the woods. It adjusted its footing, watching - studying - with eyes that sat too forward in its face.

No. It did not leave. Instead it simply smiled.

[oliolioxenfreewrites]

Gospel of the Damned I

As I guided my old sedan along the winding roads leading to Villisca, Iowa, the steady hum of the engine was a comforting, familiar sound against the backdrop of my tumultuous thoughts. The late afternoon sunlight filtered through the trees, casting long shadows across the road, shadows that seemed to stretch and reach towards me as if they knew the purpose of my journey.

My name is Evelyn Archer, and I’m a journalist driven by the search for truths buried beneath layers of silence and secrets. My journey has brought me to Villisca, a town cloaked in historical mystery and whispered rumors.

Leaving Chicago had been a relief, a chance to escape the clutter of a life that had become too much to bear. The city, with its relentless noise and ceaseless demands, had started to suffocate me. After the collapse of my last major investigative piece—a story I’d poured my heart into only to see it discredited due to a sketchy source's last-minute retraction—I knew I needed a break, not just from the city, but from myself.

Villisca offered that escape, or so I hoped. It wasn’t just the town's notorious history that drew me but the promise of silence, of solitude, and perhaps a chance to redeem my journalistic career with a story that could be more than just another article. The whispers of a cult operating under a religious community, led by the mysterious Father Malachai, enticed me to peel at the layers of secrets this town held—secrets that perhaps needed someone like me to unravel them.

I could feel every mile pulling me deeper into something I couldn’t quite understand yet, a story that was more than just a chapter in my career—it was a chance to redefine it. As I passed the weathered sign welcoming visitors to Villisca, a shiver crawled up my spine. This town, cloaked in its notorious past, was like a character from one of the many thrillers that lined my bookshelves back home in my loft. Except now, I wasn't just an observer; I was part of its history.

The infamous Axe Murder House was here, a grim tourist magnet that I'd read about but never seen for myself. Apparently, eight people were murdered in their sleep, six of them being children, no less. And of course, the killer was never found. The remnants of this unresolved mystery seemed to seep into the soil of this place, staining it with a palpable darkness. I pulled into Villisca, the small town appeared almost frozen in time.

The Main Street was a quaint lineup of old brick buildings and fading storefronts, each one bearing the weight of sordid history. Despite the serene appearance, there was an underlying tension, as if the town itself was holding its breath, waiting for something—or someone—to break the silence.

I parked my car outside a diner that boasted the “Best Pie in Montgomery County,” its windows steamed up from the warmth inside. As I stepped out, the autumnal chill hit me, a stark contrast to the cozy scene inside the diner.

The stares of the few locals scattered along the street felt heavy on my shoulders. They knew I was an outsider, another curiosity-seeker perhaps, drawn by the morbid fascination with their town's dark lore. Clutching my notebook and camera, I hesitated for a moment. This was it—the start of something I couldn't yet define. Was I here as a journalist, a detective, or just another lost soul seeking answers in the wrong places?

Only time will tell…

[tparker48]

Request for Zombie-Husky-Blog

Santa Monica was open for the summer as Diego took a trip downtown. His friends were waiting for him on the beach, sending him pictures of the waves as they crashed at the shore. "Those waves look great, wonder how big they are in person?"." He asked himself, looking out the window where a wall filled his view.

It stretched to the corner of the street, the sandy plain shining further ahead as the ocean waves battered the shore, people scattered like dots as umbrellas planted into the sand. Looks like the whole town's here, this should be fun.

He heard a groan as the driver turned to the side road, trucks blocking the way as their signals turned to a parking lot. "What the hell are trucks doing here?! Don't they know its a public road." The driver groaned. "Sorry guy, but I'm afraid I'll have to drop you off here."

"Thank you for the ride, I'll take it from here."  Diego said, opening the car door to step out onto the sidewalk. He waved to the driver, before moving along the white wall. The beach must be of high demand today, he'd never seen so many cars in one place, let alone trucks.

A slope ended at the corner of the wall, cars lined up along the street as they stretched to a parking lot, trucks of many sizes filling them as drivers got out.

He's not getting in that way, the waves would be gone before he even set foot there. To the right of him, Stairs connected to a crosswalk, a trolley booth resting just along the side of the sandy path. It was a couple minutes shorter, but it was better than walking down toward the public entrance. He made his way down the stairs and waited at the booth, sitting along the bench as the sandy path stretched for a mile.

He sat there and he texted on his phone, letting Hank and the others know he was just around the corner. It wouldn't be long before he could feel the warm water between his toes. 

Whistling rang from the air, a shadow blocking the sunlight from the glass window. He turned around to see a man standing above, a red cap placed on his head as a leaf logo stuck out in the front.

"Man oh man, it's hot as the desert out here. Got me working up a sweat." The man said.

Diego looked around, trying to find where he came from. "Can I help you?"

"Can you help me?" The man asked, curling his chin as he eyed him. "Well that depends in what way. You got transportation?"

"No. I'm waiting for the bus."

"Well I guess that answers my question, I was taking the bus myself."

"I see.." Diego said, smiling nervously as he looked at his phone. He wasn't in the mood for small talk, the sooner the bus came, the sooner he could hang out with his friends.

The man shifted as he moved toward the bench. Sitting down, the end of the metal board caved as Diego went airborne, landing on the man's round gut. "Sorry bout' that," He chuckled. "I don't seem to know my own weight nowadays."

Diego stammered as he retreated back to the bench, the damp sweat coating the man's tank top soaking into his clothes. The heck's up with this guy? "Hehe..right. Well you can have the seat, I can just-"

The bench rocked before tilting upward, Diego cushioning against the man as a meaty arm wrapped at his shoulder.

"Aw, don't give up your seat for little old me. The name's Rago, I'm a visitor in this here parts."

"Diego.." He grunted. "As much as I enjoy getting hugs, Rago, I would very much like to not be this close."

"Oh I think you and I are going to be more acquainted. I haven't eaten at all since I got off the truck, and you seem like a decent little treat."

Diego blinked upon the statement. "Hehehe..you mean the food at the beach right?"

"No.." Rago said, the hand along his shoulder pulling him close. "I mean you. I've been looking for potential preys, but the lot here are way too big to swallow. But you, I'd say you're the perfect size. At least with a few adjustments."

Diego felt his heart start to race, tugging the other way to release himself from Rago's grasp. Pulled closer, he felt a rumble as it vibrated his side, looking to Rago's stomach before looking up to his face.

"Purr's nice doesn't it? Just wait until you see the inside, it's gonna be-"

Diego elbowed Rago's side, a grunt escaping from him before he jumped off the bench. "Fuck the bus! You're talking way too much crazy for me to just sit here!" He yelled. Walking as he looked at the distant people along the shoreline.

"No problem, you go ahead and enjoy your time at the beach." Rago said. "It'll make for a good last experience before you're inside me." 

Diego  walked faster, turning into a sprint as he ran for the beach. He's gotta get away from this mad man. There's now way he's serious about eating him. But it didn't matter, the threat alone was enough to keep him running, adrenaline filling his legs to carry him to the far destination.

A mile away from the bus top, Diego stopped as he relaxed along the entrance of the building, sluggishly walking inside while he stopped to take a breath. He lost him, hopefully that was the last time he saw him.

A palm struck along his shoulder, startling him as he turned around. It was Hank, along with the others as they held their boards. "There you are man, We've been waiting for ya all day." Hank said.

"Sorry, had a bit of an issue while waiting for the bus."

"Huh, well certainly picked the time to take it, the sun's getting pretty hot out there" one of his friends said.

"But it's making the waves bigger!" the other chimed in.

He almost forgot about the waves, perhaps that would set his mind straight. "Well what are we waiting for , let's get surfing!" 

Hank and the others cheered among themselves, grabbing their boards before they went toward the water. Diego followed along, looking back to the entrance and toward the long pathway. Snap out of it, he wouldn't try anything in a crowd like this. Just relax, and have fun at the beach. Taking a breath, he moved forward as he grabbed his board, letting the hot sand between his toes draw his attention as he went to the ocean.

Waves washed in from the distance, Diego paddling toward them as the watery hill began to rise. He turned his board toward the beach, getting to his feet as the waves began to crust. He bent his knees as a funnel formed overhead.  The water turned navy blue as the sides turned brighter against the sun's glow, sparkling as they trickled to the rest of the body of water.

"That's what I'm talking about!" He shouted, placing a hand into the warm water as he moved out of the tunnel, and looked back to the others. Hank swayed on his board from a wave just near the shore, the other two surfing on another further out as they waved to him. "Looks like they're catching some good waves over there. I think I'll join them and-"

Whistling pierced the air, Diego'sbody freezing as he turned toward the shore. Crowds scattered along the beach, Swimmers splashing in the water while others relaxed beneath their umbrellas. Scanning the shoreline, a familiar face looked his way as he waved. He pointed at him before a hand reached for his gut, messaging over it slowly as he licked his lips.

Diego's heart started to pace, his breath heightening as his eyes never left their sight. "He's here?.." He muttered.

"Diego!" Hank yelled.

He turned around toward him. To the right, a wall of water rushed toward him, snapping him out of his trance as he slapped at the water to move, but was swept by its flow. He flew to the top of the crust, slamming into the water as he spun in place. When the water's strength loosened, he dragged his feet along shallow water, gasping as he got to the surface. He looked toward the shoreline for the man, eying the gap between the umbrellas where he saw him, but found nothing. "Where..where did?.."

"Diego!" Hank called for him, parking his board before he walked to him. "Are ypu alright? You hit that wave pretty hard?"

"Yeah..yeah I'm fine." He replied, making his way out the water. "Just a little light headed is all." 

**********************************************

Hank brought Diego over to one of the lounging chairs, adjusting the umbrella above while he got settled. "You should be fine here bud, We'll get you some more towels to dry you off."

They went off towards the storage room, disappearing intonthe locker room before crowds swarmed his view. Diego remained in the chair, head to the sky as his mind raced. He's somewhere around the beach, how the hell did he find me? He turned to the left and looked at the passing crowd, looking to their heads for the of his pursuer.

His eyes stung from the sun, clutching the umbrella as he moved it overhead. "Ugh this sun isn't helping one bit."

"Diego?" A waiter called, moving from chair to chair as they asked people sitting down. "Diego?"

"Yes? May I help you?" He asked.

"Ah, there you are. We have your order for you" the waiter lowered to Diego's side, placing a tray of a Cheeseburger with a drink and a frie.

"But I didn't order anything."

"It was a special request from someone you is what they wanted me to tell you." She said. "He also said to give you this note."

Diego was hesitant to reach for it. But he grabbed it and opened. "You took quite the wipeout out there, sweet dessert." It read. "Don't go passing out before I get to eat you. Treat yourself to some food on me, it's the least I can do before you're swimming in mine. Heart: Rago.

Diego's palm shook, dropping the note into the sand. He placed the tray into the waiters lap before he ran across the shoreline. She called to him, but her voice softened as he darted into the crowd. Umbrellas knocked into his body, the sand beneath him sinking as he nearly tripped into others. But he readjusted when he got to the wooden platform of the Beach, Restaurants and booths scattered around as he rides were active deeper within.

He has to find Hank and the others, before Rago gets to him first. But where does he go?

A figure brushed behind him, his body jolting as he swung at it. "Woah hey!" A man said, ducking beneath his stretch. "What where you're hitting!"

Diego reconciled, apologizing before he ran further into the area. His head started to hurt again, holding a hand to the air as he moved into shade. "This sun's getting on my nerves. How am I supposed to find Hank if I can't even think straight."

Whistling pierced through the air, carried by the wind as the rides followed it.

Diego looked behind to the alley way, but nothing was there. Where's it coming from? Is he in one of the buildings? Or in the walls?

 The whistles grew louder, heavy steps clicking toward him. In a panic, he ran deeper into the Alley way, scanning the windows for any sign of movement. He saw a shadow from.the corner of his eye, but didn't look back as he turned he ran.

He tripped around the corner, noticing a bathroom to his left as he darted inside. Closing the door, he catched his breath, clenching his chest to urge his heart to stop beating. 

Whistling returned, steps growing louder before a shadow casted beneath the door frame.

Diego held his breath, covering his mouth as he listened to the steps click past. When they grew softer, he held it for a bit longer, slowly lowering his hand before silence followed. Was..was he gone? He leaned off the door, his hand pulling out his phone to text Hank a message.

The door kicked open, knocking Diego to the ground as he slid to the far wall.

Rago laughed as he filled the frame. "Did you think the little bathroom trick would work? Sorry little treat, but prey before you have already tried that." He said. "And failed doing so."

Diego massaged at his back, getting to his knees as he eyed Rago. He leapt forward toward the door, using the wall to push himself between his legs. 

A snag dragged on his ankle, a fist clenching at it before his body hoisted off the ground, and Rago's gut filled the view.

"Oh no, you're not getting out that way." Rago chuckled, closing the door before locking it.

Diego dangled as Rago walked to the walls, the cold tile meeting his back. "What do you want from me?!"

Rago smirked, leaning forward as the gut smothered into his face. Its surface was like dough, his flesh molding his face deep as musky skin coated his nostrils. "I already told you what I want. You, nice and tucked inside my gut. Ooo, I can hardly wait to feel you kicking in there."

Rago's weight shifted as the wall leaned closer, his bubbled flesh covering Diego's nose before covering over his mouth. He placed a palm along the side of the belly, hoisting the thick muscle off, but barely as it bumped to the side of his face.   "You expect me to believe I'm going there! Your mouth's barely big enough to fit my head in, let alone my shoulders!"

"You're right, it would be difficult to swallow you as you are. Fortunately, I have the perfect solution to that.." He paused for a moment, clenching his fist as a numbing sensation traveled through Diego.

It quickly expanded, racing up his body like electricity before warmth replaced it. Rago's gut seemed to be growing bigger, its round form climbing over his face like a balloon. But the bathroom was getting wider too, the ceiling zooming out before more flesh replaced it. Rago wasn't getting bigger, he was getting smaller!

The sensation quickened, Diego’s size taken away with each pulse that traveled through his body. He became smaller as his head fell into the funnel of the belly button, Rago's palm flattening as the rest of his body was encased within its flap. The flesh was as tight as a truck tire, Gurgles lingering deep inside.

"Much better." Rago said, a sense of smugness added behind it. His belly moved from the walls, compacting against Diego as it gummed at his body. "Aww look at that, my belly button’s chewing on it’s snack. I should take a picture."

A finger prodded at his back, swirling around his body like a brush against wet paint before he smothered him deeper. Receding, fingers plucked at Diego’s leg as he was brought up to Rago's face. This must be a dream, it has to be!

His tongue drawed out,  a smirk drawing from the corner of his face as he wet his lips. His maw opened heavily, a heated fog flowing into Diego as the large tongue greeted him with a lick. It was warm, slimy as it dragged across his torso.

 There was no doubt about it, this wasn't a dream at all, but rather, a nightmare.

Another lick struck his torso, dragging him slowly from the back of the tongue before the tip flicked at his head. Rago huffed as he suckled on his tongue, swallowing before he hovered Diego over head. "Any last words, sweet dessert?"

Diego's mind began to race, gazing at the abyss inside the massive cavern. He was about to be eaten, by the hands of some stranger he just met. When the fingers shook at his body, he reacted as he pounded at the thick digits. "Let me go!"

Rago’s smirk grew wider, a chuckle escaping from him. "Very poor choice of words."

 Rago's fingers let go, Diego now airborne as he fell front first along the tongue. It was like a slide, hastening him down with quick speed. He tried to cling to it, but saliva coating it made his fingers tip too slick to gain friction. When the gullet approached, he reached for the dangling uvula above, clinging to it for dear life.

The tongue rose, raking him off with a swipe as he yelled for help.

Glrrk!

**********************************************

Rago stood in the middle of the bathroom, focusing on Diego sliding into his gullet like a grape. "Not too bad, Diego, you taste pretty good." He commented.

He took slow gulps as his throat jiggled rhythmically, a small lump extruding from the middle of his neck before it descended into his collar bone. Wriggling came from his stomach, swirling around walls like a fish in a bowl before a breath compressed it. He stood pridefully as he gazed at his stomach, little hills of flesh nudging outward, but were buried too quickly. "Hmph, I go out of my way to shrink you and you can;t even make a bulge at that size. That's not gonna fly.."

He arched his fingers into a circle, widening its gap as movement stirred inside. His stomach expanded an inch, swelling as he watched its round edge  push out from beneath his chest. Muffles started to form, a faint outline of a hand bulging out from his gut, a small face poking out from it before Rago smothered it with a palm.

“There, now I can hear ya loud and clear." He smiled, rubbing his belly in firm strokes, sloshing resonating inside as Diego shouted. A ring suddenly sounded through the room, a shining light below where a phone stuck out from the sink. "What have we here?"

He picked up the phone and looked at the screen, already unlocked as a text appeared below. "Where are you man? We can't find you at the chairs." It read.

"So you have some friend's." He said, his smile returning. "Well this just got interesting. I've got some time to kill before I depart, so let's say we pay them a visit." 

He opened the door and left for the beach, taking Diego's phone as he texted Hank back. 

It was gonna be a while before he was scheduled to leave, so he decided to take a tour of the place and grab some food. He sat down at a burger restaurant as he sat in one of the booths. It was a tight squeeze to get through the thin gap, but snug enough to let him enjoy the company of his now captured prey. 

"Hello sir, what would you.." The waiter paused as they looked at his belly, Rago looking down himself as a palm pushed out from his belly. 

“Pay no mind to that. It's just a tattoo I got there" he winked. “I'd like a triple cheese burger with a large shake, make it thicc for me."

The waiter pondered to themselves as they held their pen, writing down his orders before they moved away.

"I made you a promise didn't I? I said I was gonna have you swimming in the food you ate. Since you discarded your own, I don't mind sharing mine."

A bell rang from the door, three guys entering as one of them looked at their phone, their gaze meeting Rago's as they approached. So these must be Diego's friends. Scrawny bunch, wouldn't be good for tooth picks.

"Are you Rago?" Henry asked.

"The one and only.." he tipped his cap. "And you must be Diego's friends. Hank wasn’t it?"

"You said you found Diego’s phone in the bathroom, where did he go?"

Stirring moved from his gut, Rago playing it off as he placed his arm on top of it. "I don't know, I only saw him enter. But I can help you find him. I saw where he went."

"Where?"

"We'll get to that. But first.." He extended a hand to the air, the waiter gave him a tray and he brought his food to the table. "Papa needs some grub. Think you can spot me?"

Hank eyed him upon the request, but agreed as he handed the waiter the money.

He smiled at the gesture, extending a hand towards the opposite side of the booth, Hank obliged as the others sat down with him. "Your friend seemed to be running from someone, he ran past me when he went to the bathroom." Rago said.

"Who?"

Rago paused as he picked up his burger, biting it to the middle before he pulled back to chew. With a heavy swallow, it moved at a snail's pace as it traveled to his stomach, upsetting Diego as he mushed around the meaty contents.. "It was someone big, and very good looking I must say. But I Didn't get much else." He sipped at his shake, slouching back as his gut compressed into the table. "All I know is that he was in a hurry to get away. And with that-"

His stomach jolted forward, sliding the booth table toward Diego's friend. Pinching his fingers, he leaned forward as he pulled the table back, and his belly shrunk. "Sorry about that, been having hiccups since a snack earlier." 

"Listen, I get that you want to dine first, but we have a friend we have to find. Now if you know where he is, please tell us so we can help him."

Quick and to the point, this'll be interesting. Rago chuckled before he got up from his chair, stuffing the rest of his burger into his mouth before he grabbed his shake. "Alrat, then we batta na was ma time" he garbled, swallowing the last of his burger. "It'll kill some time before I leave town." 

He ushered them to follow as he exited the Restaurant. Taking off to the far alley where he ate-..found Diego.

He took them toward the bathroom, recently used as the door held open. He told them that there was a tussle inside, but he didn't get to see who. It happened so fast, that by the time he got there, all.that was left was the phone.  Taking them toward the beach, he guided them back to his seat and told him when he started to run. But it appears that wasn't enough to convince Hank.

"This doesn't make any sense, Diego said he saw someone big and heavy, and all the descriptions you gave us have been off."

He was perceptive, he'll give them that. "I swear to you, those are all the places I remember him going. On my life as A truck driver."

"That's  good enough!" Hank yelled. His fist shaking as his breath grew heavy. Another friend approached, placing a palm along his shoulder as he calmed down. "S-sorry..I just want to know where he is."

Rago struggled to hold back as Diego stirred within, if only he knew just how close he was, Hidden away by his fat. "Listen, I get what you're saying, but those are all the places I know he went. But if it makes you feel any better, I'll radio some fellow truckers to see if they'll find him."

"That..would be helpful. Thank you Rago."

He held back his grin, wiping at the side of his face. "Sure."

He made his way to the staircase along the side of the beach, trucks parked along the walls as they faced the street. Rago went toward a red one that sat beneath a tree, opening the driver's side as he got in. He fiddled with the radio, messing with the knob as static rang through the truck before he looked at Hank and the others below. 

"Sorry I couldn't help much in finding your friend, the old noggin' doesn't work like they used to."

"We're sure we'll find him. We just gotta keep looking."

Yeah.."  Rago said, turning the ignition on. "You know, now that I think of it, there is one place we haven't checked for him." Rago said.

“Really? Where?”

He pointed at his chest as he hunched over the edge of the window, Gagging as he heaved at his stomach. Hank stared as he and the other two stepped back, cautious in case he threw up. But Rago only smirked, the awaiting lump in his throat returning before it pushed into his mouth. "Aaah!" He opened his mouth, chewed bits of burger scattered upon the tip of his tongue.  And on top, would be Diego, covered in melted ice cream as it spilled over his back.

"Diego?" Hank's eyes widened.

"Hank! Hank, you have to help me! Don't let him-" Diego's voice was cut off, the food covered tongue splatting against him as it reeled back into his mouth. Rago tilted his head back, an outline of Diego gliding along his neck, before he disappeared into his body.

Rago belched, pounding at his chest. “Man that hit the spot. He's almost as spicy as that burger." He chuckled, leaning into his seats as he pulled the lever on the wheel. "Thanks for paying the food boys." He waves to them, rolling up the window before the truck departed.

He looked in the corner mirror to them, their shocked expression froze on their face before they disappeared behind the butt of the truck. "Your friends were almost as gullible as you are Diego." Rago commented, widening his finger as his stomach grew.

A hand extended out from his gut, pushing as hard as it can as if it tempted to pop it. "Hank! guys!"

"Your friends won't help you here. They're still back in the parking lot. It's just you and me now, little treat." Rago said.

Diego muffled from inside his prison, his gut dancing as bulges ringed around it. Rago only moaned, hugging at his gut with an arm as he heaved it close. "Don't worry, you may not be seeing them again, but you're gonna meet a lot more on the road. Chicken, green peas, and of course good old mash potatoes.” he chuckled. “They're even close by, just within the mile."

"You can't keep me in here!"

"Of course I can." Rago soothed through voice, his stomach rebounding as he let go of it. "After all, you're part of my belly now."

He pressed his foot on the gas, the truck purring before the wheels began to squeak. And so he went on about his day along the road, his mouth watering for more food to eat as food raced on his mind. But it was nothing compared to his now permanent guest, safe and tucked in his stomach to aid in his boredom.

[shady-tavern]

Preview for "Dark Waters" the December Short Story

(warnings ahead for implied murder and death, mentioned fevers and illnesses and attempted kidnapping. Please be sure to take care of yourselves!)

*.*.*

Everyone knew the river was off limits, that the nearby old bridge that led across it was half broken and the rushing, deep water beneath was deadly all on its own. But that wasn't the reason everyone chose to walk for miles to a solid stone bridge which stretched over a wide, shallow part of the river in order to cross to the other side.

That the old bridge was too decrepit to cross was just an excuse, since someone could have repaired it long ago. No one would, however, for a monster lived in this part of the river. Dangerous and deadly, he had dragged many a foolish mortal to a watery grave.

Sometimes Lyna could hear singing on the wind when she left her hometown, a luring tune that could sound melancholic or cheerful, depending on the monster's mood. 

Not everyone was careful of course and sometimes she heard stories of people who disappeared, of backpacks and torn clothes being washed onto the shores of the lake the river was feeding into. At least the monster didn't live in the lake her hometown was built around, Lyna thought to herself, or there would be more deaths.

Merchants grumbled and complained every time they visited and local traders were just as exasperated and annoyed with the long way around they had to take to get to them, but no one risked anything. 

The town had banded together twice in her childhood days to pay for a monster slayer, once for a famed duo and once for an entire group. Both times the warriors had ended up dead, their bodies washed ashore, the wounds grisly and frightening.

Whatever lived in the river, it was powerful, so no one messed with it. Slayers were expensive as well and since the town itself never got attacked, they had accepted that they could not cross the river wherever they liked.

In the grand scheme of things it was a rather minor inconvenience, Lyna knew that. Everyone knew that. But people were either lazy or efficient, depending on the point of view and the added detour kept rankling at everyone.

Being helpless rankled at everyone.

Lyna personally didn't worry too much about the river as she grew up, only when she started to apprentice under the local alchemist and potion maker did it become more relevant. There was a special herb that grew only on river banks and another one at the bottom of rivers, the former useful for salves that healed burns, the latter used for ointment that made people look fresher and healthier.

She accompanied her master on long trips down the river until they were clear of the monster's, quite frankly massive, territory. Of course they weren't the only ones who sought the herbs. Other towns and villages that housed herbalists or even just knowledgeable folks who home-brewed some things came to these safe spots to harvest.

Lyna and her master always managed to gather enough to stock up their supplies, but every time on the way back, she saw the overgrown riverbanks of the monster and the herbs that grew there in plentiful quantity. 

When they got closer to the town, about a mile away from home, the riverbanks even rose to form cliffs and along those cliffs grew plants she wished she could get her hands on, because they could create marvelous healing potions.

If her master and she wanted to get those kinds of herbs, they either had to wait until a trader brought them or they traveled for two days themselves to another part of the river with cliffs. 

Though, again, they were hardly the only ones to do so and often enough they had arrived to find everything already harvested, the craggy surroundings empty. Traveling two days for nothing was rarely worth the risk as well, so their town only had a very small, carefully hoarded amount of healing potions.

Often enough, when the road brought them too close to the river, Lyna could hear the monster. It had taken her a while to realize that it was making noise on purpose, that it wanted them to know it was keeping pace with their mule pulled cart. She was never able to figure out if he meant to be cruelly playful or just straight-up threatening.

Aside from that, however, life was good. Their town was doing well, the people were largely content and they had visiting bards and performers who brought joy and stories and the occasional scholar that sold and bought new books.

Lyna made enough coin for herself and her grandmother, who had raised her after her parents had died when she had been a babe, to live comfortably. Her grandmother's lady friend had moved in recently to stay with them after her children had left for the capital and the home had grown lively with conversations and was always filled with amazing food.

Lyna found all her clothes mended before she could get around to it herself, a new scarf knitted and a new cloak made of a dark, river-green color replacing her old, worn one, to keep her dry and warm in bad weather.

It was all going well until a fever swept through the land. Many merchants slowly but steadily cut down on their trading to try and avoid spreading it, while towns and villages grew wary of outsiders. The bards and performers were asked to either no longer visit or to stop in their town and stay until the sickness had passed before they traveled again.

Lyna and her master were busier than ever, brewing potions and creating salves, drying and selling herbs to be ground into food or burnt to create cleansing smoke. Their stock dwindled fast and soon they had to go on many trips to try and stock up.

Right up until the fever reached their town as well. It started out small, with a family here and there, until suddenly half the town was sick. Lyna's master herself was one day locked away in her cabin, refusing to come out and sounding weak and raspy.

"Wouldn't it be best to close the shop for now?" her grand-aunty, her grandmother's best friend, asked worriedly when Lyna returned home. "You are putting yourself at risk."

And them as well. Lyna frowned, eating dinner quietly as she mulled over things. That evening, as she sat with the two elderly ladies in front of the fire, one knitting and the other sewing, she came to a decision.

"I'll move into the potion shop. Just for now," she hurriedly tacked on when they both looked up sharply. "Just until we made it through this. People need medicine and I want to help. I'll make sure to come by and chop wood and carry water, but I won't come into the house, just in case I get sick too."

Her grandmother was quiet for a long moment, exchanging a look with her friend. "You will save a healing potion for yourself," she said and lifted a hand when Lyna tried to protest. "I will not lose you, Lyna. I lost too much already."

Lyna did not tell her that they had no more healing potions left at the shop. Otherwise her master would have healed herself instead of retreating into her home to avoid spreading the illness further.

*.*.*

Would you like to read more? Head over to my patreon! A new short story is posted every month and there are plenty others available for reading already. I hope you'll enjoy what you find! =D

[sansloii]

Welcoming Ceremony

The welcoming ceremony for the Festival of the Blue Moons takes place just shy of midnight. Because of the split festival this year, the ceremony is a little different due to the fact that the Tetrarch siblings are apart and are in two different kingdoms entirely.

Due to the nature of it being a retelling of the founding of Meriburn, the welcoming ceremony serves as a means by which the citizens of Meriburn welcoming the sea and those that dwell in it to freely travel along the streets of Meriburn. It starts off the coasts of Sylalune — a few miles out — on a sandbar that partly submerged by the tides more oft than not, especially during festival season. On this formation is a platform; some call it a stage, others refer to it as an altar, but there has never been a concrete way to refer to it. This platform — circular, made of stone, covered in roots that seem to just stretch up out of the ground itself — is where the Tetrarch royals typically stand and beckon in the tides and waves. It's made of the same stone that tends to glow when it comes into contact with water… but that glow cannot activate on its own, for a reason no one has discovered. ( For now, it's written off as just one of the many strange phenomena of Meriburn ( and the Tetrarch line as a whole ) as it only seems to react as such when a member of the royal family steps foot on the platform. )

In any case, the sea — welcomed in by a Tetrarch — will be allowed into the the city in small amounts and seem to travel up instead of traveling down. As it travels up, more of the story of Meriburn reveals itself via the cobbled stones in its roads. This phenomenon lasts throughout the entire festival.

A similar platform has been erected in the main square of Vasir, Brecaea's capital, due to how removed it is from the water and how difficult it would be to relocate the festivities to be along the coast while still ensuring the safety and accommodation of guests. However, the main streets ( side streets as well ) have been fashioned to mimic the flow of water that naturally occurs in Meriburn, flowered Aichontiscus-like statuettes carefully positioned all throughout the city and throughout the castle grounds as well. All these statues can ( and will ) be activated by the platform in the middle of the square. As for how the water will flow upstream as it does in Meriburn… well…

…that is why the Queen elected to host Brecaea's ceremony.

[serioussimming]

Los Santos - Progress Report 2022 - Part 4b: Back on track talking about roads

Okay now again...

This is a pretty in depth, technical and passionate talk about road textures I guess

During last years work on Los Santos (which was mainly september... Okay actually I think it was only september. But hey I haven’t made that much progress in any other year!) I replaced some road textures and reworked some road layouts that already existed. When a project is stretched out in such a long time window (2016-now) you not only work in one direction (from start to finish) but you also occasionally completely rework stuff from before. In all these years from 2016 this has been the only CAW project I’ve worked on. With every year I’m learning new quirks and tricks about the game and caw.

Now this is the point where I diverge from Part 4a

My issue with the previous roads is that they were compelety random textures grabbed from everywhere (GTA V Assets, Store Worlds, Internet and more...). They kind of looked like what I wanted them to look like but they didn’t match that well across the board.

If there was one single thing that I could change about how the worlds work in The Sims 3 it would be the road system. Don’t get me wrong. The roads in The Sims 3 are miles ahead (haha miles) of what we got in say The Sims 2. Sims 3 Roads can curve, run in any angle to the world grid, have different textures, working bridges,... Thats all stuff that Sims 2 can’t. At least from neighborhood view. In lot view roads can be a bit more flexible. But still I’d say that Sims 3 Roads are superior. Yet they only have one lane per side. They always have a sidewalk. They always have the same width. They are completely flat and normal maps can only do so much. I mean it’s okay. Its not Cities:Skylines or SimCity but things could be better.

My new roads work around many of the issues that I previously had with Sims 3 Roads. The new road textures are AGES ahead of the old ones and I spent like 2 weeks making and adjusting the textures (shoutout to the Pixelmator Pro developers for creating an Image Editor that doesn’t drive me crazy)

But let me go into detail:

The difference in detail when you see before and after next to each other is simply astonishing even for me. Look at how much more grungy and used the new roads look. Also note the asymmetric nature of them.

The old textures for this road were mainly modified roads from Roaring Heights. I had then made minor modifications by adding a curb to give the road more dimension. I originally picked that road because I liked the yellowish sidewalk which is also in Sunset Valley I think and it was the only one that also had these red plastered crosswalks that LA is so famous for.

Here you can see more of how much more detail the roads have. The curb has proper coloring compared to the sidewalk and there is a *whatever you call that part between the curb and asphalt* which has a dirty appearance while not looking too repeated.

Note: The curb has no seams and seems to be like one super long piece of curb (new insult unlocked you pice of curb) because the road detail texture repeats three times in one sidewalk til. If there was a seam the curb pieces would be super small.

A difficulty with repeating textures is always making them look detailed, contrasted and sharp without making them look too busy and repeated.

The sidewalk texture is a blend of the default sidewalk texture and a concrete texture. I then changed the color and added details by hand like the all the cracks and irregularities. Notice how the sidewalk gets very slightly darker to the seams too add more depth. Something like this has to be done very subtly so it doesn’t get overdone.

By crafting the road textures myself I can also work around issues that I had before.

I was actually a bit sad replacing the road texture in the vinewood hills area since that light road texture was the very first I used in this world. It was here from the start you could say. The textures were sourced from Lucky Palms where they’re used as freeway.

Now with the new roads I can fix the crossings that can’t have transparency on the sidewalk. The corners have the dirt/sand texture painted onto them so It gives them the illusion of transparency and they blend with their surroundings.

The road details are also handpainted. The yellow lines in the middle and the white borders. In the newer picture you can see how this unifies the different types of roads. The darker old road had white lines in the middle, while the lighter road had yellow lines that were also bigger.

Notice how the old roads were all over the place. The dark and light roads had no actual connection to each other. I mean they were connected but there is no relation between them. They could very well be in two completely different worlds. They don’t tell a story. The new roads do. You can see how these two roads are subject to the same law. The lines have to be the same as that’s how they are meant to be. You could think about how the darker roads are more fresh and how they were paved onto the lighter roads because they were too broken but they didn’t pave the road completely because of financial constraints and other parts still being okay.

It’s laughable but you can really think of an entire story just for a section of a road.

Now onto my favorite part about the new roads! I got really excited when I realized I could do this. Using the road detail overlay I created road sections that are bicolored. In my opinion this little detail makes the world look so much more realistic. It just gives it that extra layer of depth and I love it.

Previously I only had roads connected to each other that had completely different colors (top picture). Now I am able to connect these in a way that makes them look like only one side got new pavement and the other lane was still okay so they left as is. This one road you see in the bottom picture looks completely natural like one road that got new pavement in some areas, when it’s actually technically 3 different roads:

more used light colored road, mix of new and old road, newer dark road

How much a neighborhood can change when you replace the roads. Kind of funny how clean perfect roads were replaced with cracked used roads yet the crappy roads make the area look better.

Some roads in Los Santos are really, really broken and in dire need of complete repaving! Why do I even pay taxes??? I wanted a road that resembles just that! Look at how broken the road is. Full of seams filled with tar and how each tile is colored a bit differently. Also I alternated the direction of the road every now and then to break up the repetition. Do you notice the thin lines that run on each tile?

I feel like this was the hardest road to not overdo. It’s a really busy pattern but in my opinion it still looks good. For each road I had to balance the textures between GTA V’s art style, Sims 3′s art style, my desired art style, and reality. I wanted to make them look as good and realistic as I could without making them look completely out of place. Always remember: They need to look good with a Sim standing on them, a house being next to them and a Sims 3 basegame car on them. All of these have to fit together without making any one of them looking edited in. I cant replace every single game asset after all. Or could I? *Vsauce music starts playing*

Road beside 12 Residue Apartments

Only a few weeks ago I learned that red curb means no parking lmao

Do you notice that one side of the road looks a bit different from the other? One side is lighter and other a bit reddish. Another example of depth/detail

Wow. You really read a nerd talk about roads for like 10 minutes?

Now after my TED Talk about Sims 3 Roads is over I may have come to the conclusion that the roads are the single most important thing to mind when creating a world (next to terrain). They are the connection between every single point in the world and a gateway into the heart of the created world. When you see the roads, you know what kind of place the world is trying to represent. Just take a look at all the different EA worlds and how different the roads can be (e.g. Monte Vista vs Twinbrook).

Now thank you for reading this <3

I hope the road of your life is not as bad as this...

[lydia-too-late]

4:02am

“You should be glad I picked you up. Shit, lotsa bad people around this time of night.”

The headlights race forward and forward and forward along the gray-faded asphalt, cutting a stark semicircle of illumination that deepens the cavernous dark beyond. Tula stares forward too, still and unblinking, hair hanging in long tangles over half her face. She says nothing.

He prods. “Why were y’out here, anyway?” 

The silence stretches, blunted by the steady hum of road noise. 

Finally, low and half-raw: “Party.”

“Yeah?” The man laughs. She hasn’t looked at him closely. He smells of stale cigarettes, sweat, hours-old dollar-menu fast food. The truck must be thirty years old, and it feels older. Dust on dirt, dirt on dust, layered like sedimentary deposits. “Must’ve gotten pretty wild, huh? You should be glad I found ya before anyone else. Out here, stuff happens and no one ever finds out, you know what I mean?”

“Yeah.”  

“What’s your name, honey?”

“Luna.” The lie comes automatically.

“That’s a pretty name. Luna. Spanish, right? Y’don’t look Mexican. Wouldn’t have picked you up if ya did. Don’t wanna aid an illegal, y’know? Helping ‘em out just means more will come. Build The Wall, that’s what I say.”

It’s 4:02am. Two hours until sunrise. 4:03. 4:04. 4:05.

“There’s an old saying, Luna. You might be too young to know it. Gas, grass, or ass: Nobody rides for free.” The man barks a laugh, flush with rush and risk, then continues in his lazy drawl. “I don’t need no gas or grass, but I wouldn’t turn down some ass. I’m taking you all the way into the city, after all.”

She looks at him -- really looks. He’s smiling, pink lips peeled tight over yellowing teeth, nestled in patch of unkept, graying whiskers. Weathered face, watering eyes. His gaze oscillates between her and the empty road ahead. 

Motherfucker. 

Wounded and growling, the thing in her belly snarls, bares its teeth. “When we get there,” she promises.

"Aha!" He grins wider, not bothering to conceal his sudden sense of triumph. “I knew you were a girl who can show appreciation when someone helps her out. So many bitches these days think the world owes ‘em something. All that feminazi, me-too bullshit.” He reaches down and adjusts the crotch of his grease-stained jeans, gaze pawing at his passenger. “Betcha look pretty without that jacket.”

He turns on the radio: George Strait, Garth Brooks, rolling thunder, small-town broken hearts, the crooning whimper of men in love or loss, drowning in drink and the bitter ruins of a mythological American dream.

Nights run short this time of year. With no traffic, it’s an easy drive into the city. Twenty or thirty minutes at most, depending on the traffic lights. Tula slumps against the passenger window, watching the deserted intersections pass one after another, the glow of streetlights wandering over her face as the salivating thing within kneads her belly. How many of them are there in the city, like her, watching the sky as dawn approaches? 

“This is it?” The truck pulls into a parking lot and shudders to a stop, the uneven idle of the engine sputtering in the relative quiet.

“Yeah.”

“Which building’s yours?” He’s already unfastening his belt.

“That one.” Tula points to the nearest apartment building. It’s a lie, of course: her haven is half a mile away. 

She feels the satisfying ache of fangs, the hunger that prowled and paced through their ride, simmering and deep, quietly filling her out, flushing to the furthest extremities: her lips and fingertips, her chest and core, all the way down to her toes. When we get there, she’d promised. The beast is tired of waiting.

She gives herself to it.

[francesminos-tt]

Twisted -1-

The countryside was quiet and peaceful, almost ethereal in the late spring sun. There was only one paved road in the small village, with numerous unpaved paths stretching from the main road, like branches from a huge tree, or blood veins from the main artery. The whole village was dead quiet at 3:37pm, only the occasional dog barks reminding people that this was not a ghost village.

Daeron looked at his watch, then the small notebook he kept in his pocket at all times. He could have used his phone for navigation, but the internet was practically useless in such remote place. He walked 3 miles just to get to the entrance of this village, a crooked metal board on a tree, reading Arcadia.

There was nothing Arcadia about this place, Daeron thought, except that it was located in the middle of nowhere. But remoteness and isolation seldom meant idleness. It was a fact known by many that remoteness and isolation was the birthing parents of all things sinister.

Daeron stopped in front of a small tavern and put notebook back into his pocket. The tavern was a three story building located at the center of this village, Arcadia, and the only place for social gatherings. According to its website, it was opened in 1894 and had served the community for more than 100 years. Also, it was the only restaurant and the only “hotel” in this small village. Daeron tried to push the door open, but the heavy carved door seemed to be locked. He knocked, no answer. He rang the easily neglected door bell, still nothing.

“Miss K must be taking her nap now.” A voice came from behind Daeron, nearly shocking the young man out of his skin.

Daeron turned back, only to find a friendly face smiling at him. It was a young man, probably 20 or less, with shockingly dark hair and a handsome face. He was almost as tall as Daeron, but a bit slenderer, his shoulders wrapped under a plain sweatshirt. The collar was too loose, exposing his pale neck and delicate collar bone. He wore a washed tight jeans underneath, paired with a pair of pointy oxfords. He looked like any young adult Daeron had met in the city, but there was a delicacy to him, with his nicely shaped eyebrow, long lashes, flushed cheeks and soft lips.

“I am sorry?” Daeron said, tilting his head to the side.

“The tavern owner, Miss K. She always takes a nap in the afternoon. You won’t be able to wake her unless there is a fire.” The young man said; he sounded boyish, his voice high-pitched compared to Daeron’s deep one. “You won’t set a fire to her tavern, will you?”

“Of course not.” Daeron replied immediately. “I booked a room here, but I guess I arrived too early.”

“Oh, a visitor! We haven’t had a visitor in years!” The young man clapped his hands, his darks eyes sparkling with excitement, “I am Joffrey, by the way. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you.” Daeron replied, shaking Joffrey’s outstretched hand. Joffrey’s hand was small and soft, perching neatly in Daeron’s sweaty palm. Perhaps too soft for a young man like him.

“Will you come and take a stroll with me? I can tell you some nice things to see around here. Perhaps share a little gossip as well.” Joffrey offered. He seemed friendly, if not a tad too flirty. He came to stand next to Daeron, all giddy and goofy smile. If Joffrey was not a 6 feet tall man, Daeron would say that he was approached by a teenager girl.

Daeron considered for a moment. He had nothing to do. His phone wasn’t working and he had no one to talk to except for this overly chatty young man. Joffrey looked nice, and naive for his age, a perfect starting point for Daeron’s investigation.

“All right.” Daeron said, putting his hands into his pocket, his fingers brushing against the notebook’s leather cover, over and over again, a habit he had developed in the academy.

“Let’s go! We can go see the flower fields! Oh, do you know Mr. X adopted a new goat? We suspect it’s stolen, but he won’t admit it.” Joffrey put his hand into the hollow of Daeron’s arm and hooked their arms together like a pair of Victorian lovers.

Daeron noticed two things. One, not only did Joffrey talk like a girl, he acted like one too. Second, Joffrey used plural in his speech, we instead of I, which meant that he probably lived with someone. It was strange for a young man like him to have such a sense of collectiveness. Most young men in their 20s wanted to be as unique as possible, imagine themselves as lone fighters against the world. Childish and stupid, in Daeron’s opinion.

“You are going to love our village.” Joffrey smiled, his dark lashes fluttering like butterfly wings, “There. That’s our house, just above the hill.”

Daeron looked at the direction Joffrey was pointing and saw a lovely farm house perched on a small hill just off the main road. The house was painted a lovely cream white, with dark roofs and old style windows. It was well maintained with a row of white fences around, a bicycle leaning against them sluggishly. It was idyllic, dreamy, a perfect image of country life.

“It’s nice.” Daeron commented.

“Oh, it is.” Joffrey said dreamily, a shy smile on his face. Was it the dusk, or Daeron’s imagination that Joffrey was blushing?

There were more to write on his notebook, Daeron thought.