#blood. Blood. gallons of the stuff. More than you could drink and it will never be enough/ref He's so. SILLY

[alhavaradawnstar]

shit needs doing so naturally I am thinking about. The swap au

[fangmaw]

misc vampire bf scene #2

"That's it. We're going to the farm."

Hex lifted his head from the arm of the couch to frown at Caleb, currently standing two feet in front of him, arms crossed.

"You heard me. Get your vampire ass off the couch and grab your coat." He jangled his keys and watched Hex bury his face in a throw pillow with a groan.

"Don't wanna."

Caleb softened, but stood his ground. "You've barely moved the past three days. Last time you fed off me, I practically had to drag you away."

Hex tilted his head enough to make eye contact and regarded him for several seconds before he spoke. "I'm sorry, Caleb. I didn't mean to hurt you." His voice wavered slightly as he turned away again.

"No, I didn't mean-" Caleb fumbled as he stepped up to the couch and knelt alongside his boyfriend. He slid an arm over his chest and pressed his own torso to the man's back, enveloping him. "I'm fine. I know you'd never hurt me." He felt Hex murmur in agreement. "I brought it up because it illustrates my point— you're getting hungrier."

Hex sighed and held Caleb's outstretched arm to his chest before leaning down to place a kiss on the back of his hand. "Still don't wanna."

"Well, I can't bring a sheep into the apartment without someone noticing, so it looks like we have a dilemma." At that, Hex made an effort to roll over, and Caleb quickly hopped back to his feet. 

"How do you know your aunt won't care?"

Satisfied that he'd won, at least for now, Caleb turned to hunt down a warmer jacket as he replied, "It's a massive farm. Ranch? Not important. What matters is that I know where it is, I have keys to most of the gates and outbuildings, and there's enough livestock that a couple heads can be chalked up to animal attacks without ruining anyone's livelihood."

He disappeared into the bedroom and soon returned, bearing his own fleece-lined windbreaker and a sweater for Hex. As he shrugged into the teal behemoth, he watched Hex rise and stretch his back. His face looked drawn, and the skin above his collar more taut. Before Caleb had a chance to pity him, the ghoul saw that he had returned and grinned, exposing dual rows of jagged teeth. Hex thanked him and tugged the garment on over his head.

The turtleneck hid his collar from view; unfortunate, but Caleb still had the satisfaction of knowing it was there. Since Hex didn't leave the house much, Caleb had chosen something a bit more obvious than he would have otherwise - a lovely strip of black leather, fashioned into a choker as clasped with a petite silver lock. Hex was delighted to receive it —though not surprised, as after Caleb mentioned the idea, he had to measure Hex's neck to get it fitted, and at that point the gig was well and truly up. He wore it with pride nearly every day, and frequently Caleb caught him admiring how it looked in the mirror, or absently reaching up to touch it.

Looking at the collar always stirred that needless protective instinct in his head. Hex was more than capable of destroying any possible bodily threat that came his or Caleb's way, but seeing the clear mark around his neck, bold and unabashed, he felt that responsibility anew. He wanted to care for what was his.

Idly, he wondered if Hex felt something of the same for him. They'd never explicitly talked about it before, but Hex was always so tender with him after a bite, even just a nibble. Caleb was hesitant to broach the subject. He knew Hex struggled with reconciling biological necessity with kink, but it probably wouldn't hurt to ask. Eventually. Right now, they had other priorities, and they'd all be happier and more relaxed if Hex was fed properly first.

Hex was still a bit tense in the car. The Minnesota back roads were treacherous this time of year, and it was pitch dark beyond the headlights, so Caleb was focused mostly on the asphalt ahead of them. Even so, the restlessness of his passenger was hard to miss.

Out of the corner of his eye, Caleb caught him chewing at one of his claws and swatted in roughly the right direction.

"Quit that."

"You're not my mom," mumbled Hex. He did stop gnawing at the nail, though.

"No, I'm your chauffeur."

"Should've found a different driver. I always forget how small your car is." Though he couldn't see Hex's expression, Caleb could hear the smile on his voice.

Caleb chuckled a bit, and the pair fell into a silence. Caleb took it upon himself to slay the elephant in the room.

"Are you nervous because it's live animals?"

Hex didn't reply for a moment, so Caleb chanced a glance at his face. He was looking down at his hands, toying with a loose stitch at the hem of his sweater.

"I guess."

Caleb kept watching the road. They were less than twenty minutes out at this point, plus some time to find a good parking spot. He heard Hex sigh.

"It's been a really long time since I was feeding off animals regularly. I'm not sure- what if- it was different before. I was different." Hex breathed heavily. "Does that make any sense?"

With a nod, Caleb replied, "I think so. What if you think of it this way: you're always on my ass about eating something and drinking plenty of water after you have a treat; this can just be me getting payback. You don't even have a choice. I want you strong and healthy, so you'd better do as I say, or else." With a smirk, he flicked his eyes back to his partner, who was considerably more relaxed and currently mid-eyeroll.

"I hate how much that works on me."

"My psychic powers are unparalleled. And we're getting close. You had better start planning out your menu."

Turns out, cows have a lot of blood. Like, well over a gallon. Not that Hex seemed to mind.

The ghoul had whined about the cold the entire time they spent sneaking around the pasture, but now he was on his knees in the muddy snow, hunched over a limp heifer that quit kicking a good five minutes ago.

Caleb was nervously checking his phone, both for time and in case he got some last minute text from his aunt that she was coming back tonight. They were beyond the reach of the sparse lightposts framing the pasture, so even if there was someone nearby, they were as good as invisible. By the light of his phone's lock screen, Caleb could get a better view of Hex.

It was fascinating to watch. His face was magnetically pressed to the soft skin under the animal's jaw, while his hands roamed aimlessly about the body. Occasionally he would take a deep pull, struggling against the dying heart, and dig his claws into the nearby flesh, reflexively. Caleb bent lower, close enough he could see Hex's jaw work as he adjusted his grip, nosing along the stretch of muscle and making a fresh wound.

Though Caleb was tempted to place a hand on his back, he thought better of it and maintained his distance. He knew enough about animal behavior not to disrupt a predator while it was feeding. Even domestic dogs bite when they're approached incorrectly.

Caleb settled for taking a squat on the opposite side of the cow, a good few feet away, but close enough that his pathetic light permitted him vision. For a handful of further minutes, the only sounds were muffled breaths against wet fur and the crunch of Caleb's boots as he shifted his weight.

It took him a second to realize Hex had gone still.

"Hey." He would never use the word "feral" to describe Hex to his face. It was good that he was able to relax so much, especially with Caleb around, but it was always wise to test the waters after something intense like this.

"Mmph." Hex's face still hung limp off his shoulders, pressed to the animal's neck.

Caleb smirked. "You good?" Dork.

"Mm. Good cow."

With a short laugh Caleb got up. "I'm coming over, okay?" He could just discern the outline of Hex nodding against his expired dinner. Caleb surprised himself by throwing caution to the wind and kneeling in the slush. He lit up his screen and balanced the device on the massive shoulder to his left. The greenish glow let him locate Hex's hand and cover it with his mittened own. "Well, I'm glad you liked it. I'm impressed by your capacity."

Hex finally sat up, just enough to brace his forearms on the beast's back and allow Caleb a full view of the gorey mess. The animal's neck looked as though it had been run through with a garden rake, the flesh thoroughly tilled by Hex's greedy mouth. The ghoul in question tugged his hand out from under Caleb's to swipe his fingers across the dark blood cooling on his face. He laved his tongue over the digits before he looked to Caleb, grinning.

"I live to please." His suave demeanor buckled when his gut audibly complained about the rapid influx of fluid it was dealing with.

"I suppose I've never seen you really pack it away before." Caleb’s eyes widened as he watched Hex delicately push himself the rest of the way up off the animal and sit—or rather, try. The waistband of his jeans was giving him some trouble. Caleb watched him swiftly unbutton and unzip the garment with his slobbery fingers and bite back a sigh.

"Holy shit," Caleb gawked.

Hex narrowed his eyes, but he looked far too satisfied to actually emote irritation. "I'd like to see you drink a fucking cow and not bloat up a little bit." He tugged self-consciously at his sweater, now clinging tight to his midsection. He muffled a hic behind his sleeve. "Ugh."

"Swallow some air?"

"I will bite you."

"You can't possibly still be hungry."

As though it had gained sentience, Hex's stomach growled angrily.

"No way."

Hex stuck out his bloody tongue. He was always far more playful after he fed, even if he had glutted himself beyond all human decency.

"It's a freak biology thing. Eating makes me hungry. It's like snakes and stuff." Hex leaned back on his hands, far too proud of himself.

Caleb frowned slightly as he thought. "Do we need to get you another cow? Because I'm not sure I can swing that, and definitely not again next week."

"It wouldn't be much of an animal attack if they just found this lady dead and bloodless.” Hex gave the cow’s head an affectionate pat. “A good carnivore would take advantage of all that precious organ meat before abandoning its catch."

"I'd argue I caught this one," Caleb huffed.

"We can both take credit. You can barely see out here." Hex fell out of the banter to eye the soon-to-be carcass.

"You're drooling, dumbass."

"Sorry," Hex mumbled.

"Don't be. I'm happy for you. But, uh, I'm not sure I want to watch, if that's okay." Hex tried to hide his dejected expression under a guise of wiping saliva and cow off his face. Caleb's heart sank. "If I go now, I can have the car all warmed up by the time you're finished, so it'll be nice and cozy when you immediately fall asleep."

This seemed to reassure Hex, as the dopey grin was back. He stifled another soft burp. "Uh, will you be okay to get back by yourself?"

Caleb picked up his phone from its bovine perch and waggled it. "Flashlight." Hex nodded, but looked dubious. "I'll be fine. Promise." Caleb got up and did his best to brush the unmelted snow off his now slush-soaked pants.

Hex nodded and waited until Caleb was within the range of the lamps before tearing open the heifer's belly and burying his head in its chest cavity.

[mychemicalficrecs]

do you have any longer frikey fics, preferably bottom frank if theres smut

I do have some longer Frank/Mikey stuff, but no guarantee on bottom Frank!

Longer Frank/Mikey

Emotional Brilliance by kopperblaze, 21k, Mature. Toro and Mikey are a good team, Mikey doesn’t get why Brian had to hire someone else. In particular he doesn’t get why Brian had to hire Frank, who knows nothing about Lush products and who's incapable of keeping his mouth shut. Lush!AU. The one where Ray is a skin care expert, Frank is obnoxious, Mikey is annoyed and Pete leaves glittery handprints all over everything.

Gross roomies by turps, 36k, Explicit. Frank loves living with Mikey. Sure, the apartment is a mess, the kitchen's a toxic wasteland, and there's something growing in the refrigerator that's just a day or two away from becoming sentient, but other than those minor inconveniences, it's all cool. Or it is until Mikey decides to embark on a journey of sexual discovery and adventure and Frank's left at home with nothing but the fridge monster for company. To make matters worse, Mikey insists on telling Frank everything he does with his new kinky friends, right down to the tiniest detail. And now suddenly Frank is best friends with his right hand and he can't stop thinking about Mikey in ways he never has before. The really big problem, other than suddenly being in lust with his best friend, is that Frank isn't sure why.

Won't Know 'til You Begin by knight_tracer, Sena, 24k, Explicit. In which Frank is an accidental pervert, Mikey sleeps with Fabio, Gerard is much too sincere when talking about pain sluts, Ray is terrible with women and great with guitars, and Otter's got really bad taste in music. Alternately, the one where Frank realizes he has a thing for Mikey, Mikey realizes he has a thing for guys, and they're both adorably stupid failboats.

On Air by ladyfoxxx, 15k, Teen And Up Audiences. Frank's a radio DJ at an alternative station, spinning punk tracks and talking shit. When he gets handed the most popular show at the station to host, his first guests are independent horror filmmakers Gerard and Mikey Way.

Standing on a Planet that's Evolving and Revolving by Green, 13k, Explicit. The evolution of Frank Iero, age 15.

Buenas Noches From A Lonely Room by Femme (femmequixotic), 15k, Explicit. Frank wants to touch Mikey, to slide his fingers across the sharp angle of his cheek just below his glasses, to drag his thumb along the curve of his bottom lip, to smooth his palm down Mikey's long throat.

What Dreams May Come by sperrywink, 15k, Explicit. His career in music derailed, Frank never met the other guys in My Chemical Romance. A silly tale of teleportation.

a scent and a sound by mwestbelle, 15k, Explicit. In an urban fantasy world where werewolves can't hold a decent job and no roommate wants them, werewolf Frank is looking for an apartment. He finds one with Mikey Way.

Heart Wrapped in Clover by Sena, 19k, Explicit. Everbody's got their not-so-secret secrets on tour. When you live out of a van, you just can't help but notice things that you shouldn't talk about if you don't want to embarrass your friends or start a fight. Frank wishes sometimes they talked about things, though, because he's dying to ask if anybody else has noticed that sometimes, Mikey wears panties.

Tints Verse by turps, 65k, Mature. A MCR AU where Ray has his own gardening firm, and one day he does a job for the Ways.

We Used To Be Friends by ladyfoxxx, 50k, Explicit. "You and me, right Mikes?" "Yeah, fuck everybody else." Best friends since high school, if Frank could've chosen a brother, he'd pick Mikey. Then Mikey became a rock star and Frank... didn't. After years of radio silence, Mikey steps onto a stage in Jersey and back into Frank's life. (Or, the one where Frank is a school teacher and Mikey plays rhythm in The Used.)

And the Painted Ponies by turps, 35k, Mature. After years of struggling to be taken seriously as a bodyguard, Frank Iero is finally well established. He loves his boss, Ray, he loves his job, and he prides himself on his professionalism. But then he's assigned to be the personal bodyguard of Mikey Way. Mikey Way, aka Roboboy, is a successful high fashion model. Loved by designers and the public alike for his trademark lack of emotion, but mocked by the tabloid press for the exact same reason. Mikey is someone that Frank's sure he'll hate. Except it doesn't work out that way. In fact, it doesn't take long before Frank discovers he really likes Mikey. Maybe too much.

Better Than A Paid Life by gala_apples, 15k, Explicit. Gerard and Mikey Way are the Killjoys, a motorbaby duo. That is, until their car gets wrecked in a battle and the dashboard accessory of their new Trans Am is an ex-Companion with a mission.

Crash by Gorgeous Nerd (gorgeousnerd), 26k, Explicit. In a future version of Seattle, Frank Iero's a lot of things: bike messenger, cage fighter, sometimes thief, Ray Toro's roommate. Mikey Way's also a lot of things: record label owner, co-heir to his grandmother's fortune, younger brother. Neither are normal. But they don't know just how far each other's abnormalities go until Frank's past and a secret of Mikey's unexpectedly shove together. (Dark Angel AU.)

Sound Tracking by turps, 46k, Mature. The beat is muted, almost non-existent, and the loss hits Bob hard. He's used to living his life in a constant thrum of sound, sensing those around him, the rhythm of the universe a constant companion, but here there's almost nothing. He can feel the sound that's been pulling him for weeks now, but little else. This place is dead, almost silent, and Bob aches with the feeling of being cast into nothingness. A MCR - Bob and Gerard centric space AU where Gerard's band has been taken from him and Bob helps find them. Also features FOB, especially Pete.

Drink Cider From a Lemon by turps, 20k, General Audiences. A story about friendship, love and building your own kind of home.

Mikey Way and the Quest for the Stone by Roxy_palace, 29k, Explicit. “I’m in Colombia!” Mikey said, raising his voice over the crackle of a poor connection. “No. no, no, no, no,” James wailed. Mikey could really relate to his disbelief. He couldn't believe he was in mother fucking Colombia either.

Below the Trees, Which Are Below the Stars by alpheratz, 38k, Explicit. In the mid-1920s, Gerard and Mikey moved to France - Gerard to pursue art, Mikey because he couldn't stay behind. Now, it's 1930, and Mikey's become an airmail pilot, flying the mail route to Dakar with his navigator Frank. For a long time, the only rough thing about Mikey's life was the strain on his and Gerard's soulbond when Mikey was away, but his growing feelings for Frank and the arrival of Frank's old friend Ray could change everything.

Food of Love by Lucifuge5, 12k, Teen And Up Audiences. Ever since it re-opened, Frank's been "Sweet Nothings"'s number one customer. That he harbors a gigantic crush on one of the owners is something that he's kept to himself for the most part (Ray will never tell a soul.) It's not until he strikes a friendship with the older brother of the object of his affection that he 'fesses up. Moved by Frank's pining, Gerard promises to help Frank woo Mikey. Complications arise when Gerard's "helpful advice" is anything but. Will Frank be successful in his courtship or are his chances to win Mikey's heart as ruined as a burnt cupcake?

You Only Hear The Music (When Your Heart Begins To Break) by Acadjonne, 28k, Mature. Mikey and Frank have known each other for years. They're roommates, and best friends. They're also friends with benefits. The arrangement is casual, and it suits them both. Somewhere along the way, Mikey develops feelings for Frank, but he pushes them aside. They aren't important, he'll be fine. Or, Mikey is fine, until he somehow ends up pregnant a year into this thing with Frank, and all of a sudden, he's got more to deal with than just how long he'll be able to hide his feelings for Frank or how the hell he's supposed to afford his transition.

Give Me A Reason To Believe (Failboats In Love) by Acadjonne, 14k, Teen And Up Audiences. On the night of October 31st, Linda and Frank Iero welcome a baby boy into their family. He weighs six pounds, four ounces, and is nineteen inches long. They give him a family name, and he becomes the third Iero man to bear the name of Frank. A year later, on All Hallow's Eve, a sleeping baby is taken from his crib and replaced with a fake. The babe will later be taken from the hands of the goblin that stole him, and he will be raised by two rowan treefolk, a house brownie, and some pixies. ----- When Ray walks down the stairs to the Way family basement, the last thing Mikey expects to see is a scrappy and long-haired form following behind him. But as he later finds out, Frank is almost always unexpected in the best of ways, the rest of the world be damned.

Death's Muse by TheFratelliEffect, 53k [WIP], Mature. Lonely and depressed, Mikey Way is battling through the drab years that immediately follow college. Struggling to make a living as an artist, Mikey has became a battered down, quiet introvert whom wants nothing to do with the abusive romance he is unwillingly involved in. On a cold winter morning, the starving artist is confronted with the opportunity to paint Frank Iero, the Midnight Falls' elusive, young doctor, which he takes up immediately. Love and lust ensure as the story opens on the painter as he meets his muse.

Gallons Of The Stuff by MCRmyGeneral, 20k, Explicit. Frank has been amused by blood for as long as he can remember. When he was a child, it was a simple fascination; the way it felt on his hands, the way it looked dripping to the floor, the way it smelled. But as he grew older, that simple fascination morphed into a daring lust. Blood no longer amused him, now it turned him on. Frank has never intentionally hurt someone just to see their blood. He just takes what he can get whenever an accident happens. But when Mikey is hurt bad, Frank discovers how hard it is to keep his hands, and thoughts, to himself. He loves Mikey, he has for a long time. But now, he finds his silence so much harder to keep. He has two choices: either tell Mikey how he feels, about him and his blood, and risk scaring him away, or keep quiet, and never let the man know how much he means to him. Whatever he chooses, he knows that someone will get hurt.

[forever-rogue]

Autumn Dialogue Prompts

─── ･ ��ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

1. “It’s spooky season! Finally! My favorite time of the year!” “It’s August...it’s still summer?!”

2. “Who ate all my candy?!!”

3. “You’re too old to go trick-or-treating.”

4. “I hate costumes. There is no way in hell I am dressing up.”

5. “Time to get spooky!”

6.  “After being freaks, are we gonna get freaky?”

7. “What are you supposed to be?” “A mortician, obviously.” “Can you be a sexy mortician?”

8.  “Well, one of us has to change and it’s not going to be me.”

9.  “And just what exactly are you supposed to be?”

10. “Nope, I’m not scared. Not at all.”

11. “Is that red syrup? Please tell me it’s syrup.”

12. “I paid $50.00 for this haunted house. I better die.”

13.  “You should hang out with me later. I’m gonna marathon a bunch of movies.”

14. “I came in here expecting a trick, but you’re a real treat.”

15.  “Making out in a graveyard?”

16.  “Did you seriously injure yourself carving a pumpkin?”

17.  “Can you please help me carry this pumpkin inside my house. It’s like three times bigger than me.”

18.  “Oh, pumpkin spice. You make me so happy. You’re the love of my life.”

19.  “Let’s split up.” “Let’s not.”

20.  “Why are you just sitting there, RUN!”

21.  “We should do a couples costume.” “We’re not a couple though.”

22.  “How many caramel apples do we need? Two? Twenty? Four hundred? I’m buying four hundred.”

23.  “There’s nothing quite as satisfying as stepping on a super crunchy leaf.”

24.  “You ever realize that the fall smell everyone loves so much is just the scent of dying plants?”

25.  “It’s staring at me.”

26.  “Remember that IOU you gave me? Well this is it. You are wearing this couples costume.”

27.  “I’m going to presume that dead body in our garden is a decoration.”

28.  “Why have I woken up in our car, in the middle of a graveyard, in the middle of the night, may I ask?”

29.  “You are NOT having a pumpkin spice latte after what happened last year.”

30.  “No?? Of course I’m not scared…who gets scared of…floating objects or…um weird sounds? Not me, that’s for sure.”

31. “Can you help me rake? I’ll let you jump in the leaf pile.”

32.  “I don’t usually do anything for Halloween.”

33.  “I’ve got a collection of horror movies and pizza delivery on speed dial. Want to come over?”

34.  “Let’s go for a walk. The trees are beautiful.”

35.  “Million dollar question: Nightmare Before Christmas or Hocus Pocus?”

36.  “If you carve a dick on this pumpkin, I swear to god.”

37.  “Is it too cliche to visit a cemetery on Halloween?”

38.  “Gourds are so ugly but also so cute. I want a thousand of them.”

39.  “I’m just not in the Halloween spirit yet.”

40.  “A ouija board on Halloween: what could go wrong?”

41. “You left your candy unattended and therefore it is now mine.”

42. “The candy is for trick or treaters! Stop eating it all!”

43. “Why does the dog have a leg bone? Please tell me that’s a toy.”

44. “Why are the dog and cat covered in toilet paper?” “One word - mummies!”

45.  “I hate the woods…especially at midnight on flippin’ Halloween! How did we get so lost?”

46. “OH MY GOD SHUT UP THEY’RE GOING TO KILL US!”

47.  “So babe, how do I look?” “Honestly I can’t tell a difference. You look like a zombie most days.”

48. “Why does that pumpkin look like me?” “Well you wanted something spooky?”

49. “There’s blood on your shirt.” “Oh, babe, don’t worry, it’s not mine. I’m not hurt.”

50.  “Is that a pumpkin carving tool in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”

51. “The house is not haunted.”

52. “Mmm, I appreciated that little murmuring you did in my ear.” “….That wasn’t me.”

53. “There will be a lot of screaming tonight.”  

54. “Did someone spike the punch?”  

55. “UGH, why am I stuck with a bunch of babies?”

56. “Halloween is my aesthetic.”

57. “What are you gonna do? Burn me at the stake?”

58. “Get the blankets, we’re going star gazing!”

59. “My famous recipe, White Chocolate Pumpkin, with a dash of bat wings,” ‘Really?!?” “Nah, just some cinnamon,”

60. "If you say Halloween one more time-” “You’ll kiss me.”

61. “Would you rather kiss me or die?”

62. “10 pumpkins for our porch? That seems excessive…”

63. “It’s hand holding season.”

64. “Get the flashlight! We’re telling spooky stories!”

65. "Tell me the scariest story you know!”

66. “How did you manage to get us lost in a corn maze?”

67. “Has that scarecrow always been out there?”

68. “I just drank a whole gallon of cider by myself! I regret nothing!”

69. “Look! There’s a bat hanging from the doorway. Better kiss me under it.” “Nice try, never going to happen.”

70. “I don’t do horror movies- no, puppy dog eyes are against the rules, you can’t make me- fine, I’ll watch a scary movie with you.”

71.“Look, a full moon!”

72. “You’re beautiful. uh, u-um i mean the weather. It’s beautiful. Not that you’re not beautiful, because you are. I’m just gonna shut up.”

73. “I thought you said you knew how to start a fire!” “I said I could probably figure it out.”

74. “I think my fangs are coming loose, ugh.”

75. “I hate Halloween! EEEKK!! Don’t scare me like that!!”

76. “You have bits of leaves all over in your hair! Let me help you.”

77. “Did you hear that?”

78. “Lock the doors!”

79. “This can’t be the zombie apocalypse. I’m not caught up on my favorite shows.”

80. “Should we be drinking this much?”

81. “I’d let you haunt me all night long.”

82. “Do you think this is Harry Potter or something?”

83. “Dead men tell no tales, but we do bend the truth alot.”

84. “Oh, this isn’t a costume. This is my natural state of being.”

85. “We all know, that you will be the first to die.”

86. “What are you doing?” “Decorating for Halloween.” “It’s not even September yet…” “Halloween is a year round tradition.”

87. “Okay, no more cider for you.”

88. “Your laugh does not sound like an ugly witch cackle now will you please open the door.“

89. “You know, you have really pretty eyes but they’d look so much better without… all the blood.”

90. “What kind of childhood did you have if you never ate Halloween candy?”

91. “Black cats and pumpkins and stuff, it’s all just based on old superstitions and legends.”

92. “A walk in the woods seems like a bad idea. Ever seen Blair Witch Project?”

93. “How do you still look beautiful in zombie makeup?” 

94. “The scariest looking houses always give the best candy, it’s fact.”

95. “Wouldn’t you like to see something strange?”

96. “I think our house is haunted.”

97. “Was that someone knocking? It’s not time for trick or treaters yet.”

98. “You almost scared me to death. I’m never going to forgive you for that.”

99. “What are you going to do? Sue the ghosts?”

100. “It’s Alive! It’s Alive!”

[gasstationshane]

Tales From The DishWasher, Part 1

In a small town, on the north end of main street, on the same side as the dollar store and local ice cream shop, there's a restaurant that is one of the more popular dine in places in town. On the front side, there's a large sign made out of an maroon awning that shades the outdoor tables and chairs for those that want to eat outside or smoke.

On the back side, there's a sign painted on a metal maroon wall with the restaurants name. There's also a lable on the side of the walls that tell you if the doors are for the kitchen or the entrance. If you were to walk in from the back entrance you might wanna make sure your not walking in through the kitchen door. We've had an array of customers that walked in and ended up with a bag of trash falling onto them. One guy even tried suing us because salsa got on his brand new white jeans. Look, even if he didn't see the sign, the door is obviously a kitchen door.

Now if you walked into the actual back entrance, you'd see a small array of arcade machines that were more then likely made in the 90's. The audio from the games faded from years of dust and play time.There's also a small stand of gumball and candy machines, one of the ones where you can get a temporary tattoo for 50 cents each.

A few footsteps and a turn to the right, you'd see the vast open area. Booths to the immediate right and left, a bar on the slightly farther left, tables all scattered around with more booths on the right and left against the walls.

The kitchen area, which would be left at the arcade machines, has a few different sections. The left of where you walk in is the front line cooks area, a grill, friar and a freezer along the front and back as well as countertops with storage cabinets for lettuce, tomatoes, cheese, and other toppings or side foods.

On the right of the entrance is the dishwashers station. A shelf and carts for the servers to sit the dirty dishes on, and a big sink with a sprayer and a few different soap options on the wall. There's of course, the washing machine that's usually used just for sanitation purposes.

Behind the dishwasher station is the shelves where the majority of the dishes that aren't plates or bowls are kept. Most of the kitchen employees keep their stuff there so it's out of the way. And finally, behind the front line cooks, are the back line cooks area as well as the walk in cooler and freezer.

In the dishwasher area is where I work. I spend most of my shifts there and only leaving to put away dishes or use the bathroom or even get a drink. Not everything's normal here though, most of the eventful things happening at night when it's just me and whoever is the main cook that night, and the closing bartender.

We've dealt with a pack of stray dogs that live in the old car wash station across from the dumpster. Their friendly though thankfully, begging me for pets and belly rubs after every shift as well as treats. All of them are a mixed breed between a husky and a wolf. I've taken the liberty of naming them all.

There's Yogi, the big grey and brown male who got his name from how much he looks like a bear. Luna, a blue-ish grey and white one, who got her name from the moon shaped crescent spot on her back. Waffle, a all black one with blue eyes, who got his name by sniffing out the waffle's in my bag one day. Then there's Crash, who's red orange-ish fur makes him look similar to the famous video game character.

There's a few pups too that I haven't named yet because I haven't had time to witness their personalities. Luna, the assumed to be mother of the pups, keeps them in the old storage room of the car wash. I've re done the storage room a bit to give them a bed and a few other things to help her take care of them.

I'm thankful that no animal control or pound people have taken them yet. If they tried, I wouldn't hesitate to take them home to keep them safe. The only reason I'm not taking them home now is because they are used to this place and I don't wanna make them uncomfortable. But believe me, the moment I feel like they are danger whether it be animal control, or them needing a vet visit, they'd be in my custody in no time.

And then there's the mysterious bar truck driver, a trucker who is always at the bar, no matter how early we open. The only time he's not there is when we're closed. He's always wearing a hat, flannel, and some form of camo. He drinks so many combinations of alcohol during his visits, it's a miracle he never passes out or hadn't died of alcohol poisoning. He knows all the words to all the songs on the digital bluetooth jukebox. If you ask him, he'll stop drinking long enough to sing a long to a full song of your choice if you buy him a drink.

And then there's the mysterious puddle of water surrounding the water softener and the pump. The puddle almost always fills the area where the tile is broken. No matter what we do, the puddle never goes away, and is a murky grey color. Sometimes it won't be as much water, but we could be closed for a week and the puddle will still be there. It doesn't help that some water that sprays off from the sink or gets spilled can add to the puddle.

I guess what I'm saying is, weird things happen at the patio restaurant in town. Mostly at night. Weird stuff has been happening even before I started working there. I remember a week before my first shift, there was an incident where all the liquors and vodkas to make mixed drinks were stolen, broken, or empty, as well as ate a whole gallon of ice cream. The whole situation could have easily been blamed on one of the bartenders or other employees at the time, but they were closed that day.

T-Dog, the main front line cook that I close with most of the time, thinks that the bar trucker pick pocketed the key and the security alarm code when we closed early one night. That would make sense, since they closed early the night before and he could've needed to make up for a days loss worth of drinks.

If you ask him, T-Dog always has a somewhat reasonable explanation to any weird thing that happens there. "That puddle isn't mysterious.." He told me after I had accidentally stepped in it again and almost fell over.

"The water softener is leaking, but since we run water so much with the sinks, washers, and bathrooms, the leak doesn't have a big impact. You think the owners would fix this shit, but since it's not causing any problems, they ain't touching it just to save them some fucking money." I always made an effort to hear out his explanations. They may or may not be true but it's way better than my theory about the bar trucker peeing on the broken tile. But my theory would explain the weird smell that happens over there, no matter how much we clean over there.

T-Dog isn't the only cook I close with. Some nights it's Danny, or Jack. Jack tends to ignore the weird things happening here. But he's also the cook that doesn't make me do everything I need to do before giving me the okay to leave.

And I know he doesn't do it because Tobias, Toby for short, is the opening cook in the mornings has told me multiple times whenever something doesn't get done. I see Toby once a week when I actually work a morning shift. He's one of the not so serious cooks, and jokes around every now and then. There was one time where acted like he was gonna knock over my drink.

What's kinda funny, about Toby being the not so serious guy around here, he doesn't believe any of the weird things that I've told him about. He thinks it's rumours to get more customers in.

"Shane, that bar trucker is only here for entertainment purposes. We don't have a stage so he just sits and takes his drinks at night to keep the drunks entertained." He explained. Well.. There was one night that Toby closed for the first time. He learned the hard way that the weird things really do happen here that night.

It was around ten thirty, and we were working on finishing our stuff up for the night when we heard a loud crash come from the cooler. "The fuck was that?" He asked. I shrugged.

"Maybe Alex is still cleaning his stuff up." I replied. He shook his head.

"No.. I saw Alex leave almost an hour ago. There's something back there." I finished taking care of the next load of dishes that needed to go in the washer, before following Toby to the walk in cooler. He was carrying a broom to defend us incase there was something that could attack us or scare it away.

We opened the door slowly to see, not one, not two, but three possums in the cooler. They were snacking on our most recent batch of precooked fish sticks. They looked up at us like a kid who had just got caught sneaking out. Toby went to swing the broom to get the mammals out of there, but as he did one of then jumped on the shelves, knocking down the large ice paddle.

It smacked into Toby and made him fall back. When he landed, the force of the fall against one of the shelves, causing a case of beer to fall onto him. Glass shattered, making him covered in glass shards, beer, and blood. Most of them in his legs and chest.

"Gah!" He cried out as he went to pulling some of the glass pieces. I rushed to the shelf where we keep the first aid kit, handing it to him but he smacked at out of my hands.

"Call an ambulance Shane! A first aid kit ain't gonna fix this shit." He yelled with a look of frustration on his face. I sighed and went to the area where the phone was and dialed the number for the station. When I had explained the situation, the man on the other end sounded genuinely confused.

"You said a Possum snuck into your walk in cooler, and made a ice paddle fall onto your co worker, which caused a case of beer to break onto him??" She asked to confirm what I said.

"Umm yeah that's what happened."

"But how would a Possum get into the cooler?" Possums usually never bothered with the busier end of town."

"I have no idea, but that's what happened!" She let out a sigh.

"And which restaurant in town was this again?" Now it was my turn to sigh.

"Darbie's Patio on Main Street..."

"Ooh that place!" She said, realizing who she was dealing with.

"Please hold." She said. I assumed she forwarded the call to the department that takes care of our cases. As much weird shit that happens here, the department has given us a specific branch and a officer to take care of us.

"Hello, this officer Mark here. Who is this?" He asked in his professional cop voice. Mark was the officer assigned to us, being close friends with the owners. Him and the owners have probably seen more weird shit than I have my whole life.

"Hey Mark, it's Shane Redfield from Darbies Patio. There was an accident with a few possums in the cooler, and now Toby is covered in glass shards." I briefly explained.

"Hang tight, I'll be there with an ambulance in five minutes or less. If there's any big chucks of glass in him, do not let him take it out. If he bleeds out before he can get to the hospital, that's bad news." I thanked him, hung up the phone and stayed with Toby while we waited. The bartender brought us both a drink. He took a long sip before looking back at me.

"Hey Shane?"

"Yeah?"

"..Does weird shit like this happen all the time...?"

To be... Continued

[neshabeingchildish]

23. The Future

Determined: A Chasper Fic is being wrapped up within the next couple of chapters. Thanks to all who read, reviewed, were remotely interested in this tale of sheer self indulgence for my Chasper heart.

The Future

They didn’t really have a “honeymoon is over” phase. One of the benefits of a 6 year relationship, including a 2 year engagement was that you sort of figure out most of the things to make it work in that time period. Especially if you’re as smart as Charlotte or as caring as Jasper. 

The problems that they ran into were almost exclusively work related. 

Jasper had become someone that he wasn’t sure that he wanted to be (something Charlotte warned him about when he initially accepted his internship), but he felt like he HAD to do it. She never wanted him to try to change for her, but she did appreciate that he had the desire and the potential to do so. He made the choice to be who he felt like he should be for them and a future family… and it was a little bit miserable. He had been working at the firm for a few years and for most of that time, he sold stocks, had sales meetings, and just worked himself like crazy at something boring and often uncomfortably unethical.

How had he gotten to that point, he would sometimes wonder. He rationalized that anywhere he could get his foot in the door would be some place that he would work hard, prove himself and move ahead. He was correct about that, but that fact didn’t bring him joy and neither did all of the money that he was making. Plus, Charlotte was working so much, so many fickle hours, and having a hard time at work. They weren’t seeing much of each other and even when they tried to plan their quality time together, she usually fell asleep before time was up. He didn’t mind it too much. She was still there. They just weren’t connecting like he wanted them to. He missed his wife.

He had been so eager to try to get Charlotte to settle down and to try to take care of her that he abruptly rushed into a career that he believed could sustain them, that he could also possibly be good at. Now, he realized that he should have probably figured out more about himself, instead of trying to have things together - or seem to - just because she had things together for herself. Because of that misstep, he was now trying to figure out something else that he could do, and also trying to be a good husband to an even busier wife.

Charlotte was saving lives, building artificial body parts, researching, and testing medical treatments. She had been part of a team that made several HUGE advancements in her field. And on this team, she was one of only two women, and one of only three people who were not Caucasian. Herself, three men - one Indian, one Chinese, and one Korean, and a Russian woman were the only minorities in the entire building, and they rarely worked on the same projects, so.. Basically, she was often alone and even when they were around, the microaggressions they faced were very different. From her perspective, it seemed like she frequently got the brunt of things. Because even those male counterparts seemed to forget how they were sometimes treated and they handled her with the very same attitudes. (Or they just viewed her differently, from the start) Either way, the work, while rewarding, was exhausting enough without the additional stress of her coworkers being unkind, but sometimes, they honestly seemed like they were trying to shove her out or make her quit!

Jasper began to conduct these seminars to try to tell CEO’s how to make sales jobs less hateable and while Charlotte didn’t think it would lead anywhere (she knew that if he fell on his face, she’d have them covered). He… actually did well - above and beyond what she expected and by their second anniversary, he was branching out from the firm and beginning his own career as an Executive Coach - which Charlotte didn’t even know WAS a profession, much less that it could be as lucrative as it seemed to be for him. He hardly even seemed to be working and he was starting to bring in more money than she was! She. Was. Saving. Lives… But, she was on a team saving lives. He was helping huge companies… by himself… and he was LOVING it! Sigh. 

One day, she came home particularly upset while he was finishing up some items on a PowerPoint presentation, and she was ready to either punch something, or cry, or both - but was trying to rationalize that if she did either, she might have to explain it to him. Before she could come to a decision, she felt Jasper’s hands on her waist and she jumped. She hadn’t even seen him get up. “Whoa! You okay?” He asked. She started crying and leaned against him. “Hey… Who do I have to go down there and punch?” he asked, rubbing her back.

“Nobody… I just… Why are they always so…?” She wiped her face on his shirt and squeezed him tightly. He lifted her up and went to sit back down, resting her on his lap when he did. She sniffled, “I thought that once I had my official degree and had been working there for a while that the respect would come. I thought - there’s no way that the kind of treatment that I got in highschool at my crummy job was gonna be the way that it was when I became a member of society. It’s so much worse. They don’t respect me any more than at the Man Cave, but these people are all intellectuals, so you know that it’s deliberate, that they mean it, and that they can cover it up, rationalize that it isn’t what I’m saying. And if I’m outnumbered, what then? I look either crazy or angry, which just gives everyone else more fuel to invalidate me. I HATE that place, so much! But, I fought to get there. It is a coveted placement. All of my work history is there. Every change that I’ve helped to make is related to this company. If I leave, I don’t get to take my individual merit with me and what will they say to potential employers? Probably bad things! Any time that I even so much as glance at another laboratory, they treat me like I’m trying to go sell secrets or something.”

“Why don’t you just take a little break?” He wondered.

“I can’t. It could be career suicide. By the time I get back, things have still kept moving and nobody will care to catch me up, if I can’t stay fully immersed enough, and that would defeat the entire purpose of a break. The only way that I could possibly do that is to get sick, injured, or pregnant and even then, the bounce back might keep me lagging behind…” He was staring at her. “What?”

“Just… the thought of you pregnant. It always makes me...enraptured.” 

She smiled and leaned back against him. “I mean, I’ve eventually gotta… We did say that we’d have a couple of them.”

“How about this? We work on putting a baby in you and if it doesn’t happen and you have to vent every single day, I’ll be here for you, unless I’m on my way down there to give somebody a piece of my mind. If it does, then you’ll have an excuse to get some space from them and you’ll still have work to do, because - hello, we’ll have a baby.”

“I’m not gonna argue for or against anything at the moment, but I definitely want to immediately get into the stuff that translates to working on it.”

“You wanna do some sex stuff.”

“I feel like I clearly suggested as much.”

“Yes!” 

.

It took her a couple of months to decide to stop using her birth control, and another month or so for her body to feel normal without it, and around the fourth month after this conversation, she received her news via every single pregnancy symptom imaginable and Jasper pulling out a home pregnancy test and saying, “I got a good feeling that this is it!” While her face was still in the toilet. 

Yes, he quickly realized his foolery and rushed to try to see about her, hold her hair back, etc… hunt down crackers and salt. Once she was capable, she took the test, but she already knew what it would say. She had never felt this way in her entire life! Besides, she worked in the medical field, she knew what this had to be. Positive. 

Jasper called his parents on a group call, first and spoke with them for a while, about arrangements and them coming to visit and stuff. Then, he called the Man Cave. He thought to call them first, but since it was officially a family thing, he went for his blood family first. Besides, he knew that this call would be much longer. They talked for at least a few hours and didn’t wrap it up until Piper wondered, “Is that Charlotte lurking around in the background?” Charlotte was finally out of bed! She greeted everyone, whined about there being nothing to eat (the fridge and pantry were both full, though, and started crying as she went back to bed. “Is she gonna be like that for the next few months?” Henry wondered.

“I don’t think so. She just didn’t feel good today. Threw up all morning and had to call out of work. Now, she’ll have to start setting steps in motion there to prepare for this and I think she’s just tired. I’ll have to get her something to eat, though. There’s food here, but maybe she’s having cravings? I’ll have to check, so I have to go!”

Charlotte had called her mom first, cried a lot and said that she was already tired of being pregnant, even though she had just found out. They talked for a while, then she laid down and listened to windstorms, then took a nap and woke up extremely thirsty, only to find that after drinking half a gallon of water in one sitting, she had zero gallon of food she wanted to eat. 

She flopped into the bed, crying. This was… scary. For some reason, she thought that when this happened, she’d be cool, since she had every aspect of the plan figured out and stuff, but she had not taken the way symptoms that she had only read about previously would feel. The nausea was unsettling, and she was starving, but the thought of eating anything in there for whatever reason made her feel sick, as well.Whenever Jasper came in and sat on the side of the bed next to her, she snuggled herself into his lap. “You’re hungry? What ya wanna eat?”

“I don’t know.”

“You want… some bacon and eggs?”

“No!”

“A sandwich of some sort, maybe some soup?” She considered this, but then, shook her head. “Give me a nudge, Chef’s Kiss. Italian? Chinese?”

“You know those fried turkey tenders from the food truck near the university? I want some of those, a basket of them with the chips and gravy.” She sobbed, because that was about 30 minutes away.

“Okay, well… You’ll have to ride along, if you wanna eat it fresh,” he said and began to help her into her shoes. “I think I’m gonna get something from there too.” 

She sat up and sniffled, “It’s kinda far and we have food in the house.”

“You kidding? You’re literally growing a life inside of you. Even if it’s early, it matters to me. I don’t care what you ask for, you’re gonna get it as long as you’re like this. Why not? You were already worth everything and now, you’re worth everything plus one.” He lifted her up gently, by the hands and promised, “And you always will be immeasurable to me for this.”

“More than before?” She wondered.

“Not because you weren’t enough! Because, you were already more than enough and you’ve still given me this wonderful thing. This is gonna be much harder on you than it is on me, so… I have to make it as easy on you as I have the power to. Come on, Pretty Little Thing.” He placed his hand on the small of her back and helped her to the door. 

Fried turkey tenders became her go to food. Jasper would order them for delivery almost every night so that whenever she got home, if she wanted some, they were available. She also ate a lot of chips. She would always have a family sized bag on her at all times, sometimes, multiple. 

She worked for several months, as her job technically couldn’t get rid of someone for being pregnant, but her work load definitely had to change. Even if her body wasn’t suddenly very aware of how tiring a single day in the life of her was, Jasper was always monitoring stuff. “Should you be doing that? Because at least 17 articles stated that you shouldn’t at this time…”

From the day that they found out about it, Jasper began a Junior Journal. He put everything in it pertaining to the future addition and wrote it as though he was writing to the unborn child, sort of like the affirmation journals that he and Charlotte kept, but with way more details in it. He even wrote “Father Vows.” So that it is official everything that I intend to do for you for the rest of my life… 

“Hey, Charlotte… you’re getting kinda far along now, so I was wondering if we could maybe figure out what we’re having and maybe… start thinking of names and stuff?”

“I was thinking that we were raising any children without labels and letting them tell us when they’re ready what they feel like they are, and also… I like the name Jasper.”

He smiled brightly, “I definitely like the thought of not putting any genitalia based societal pressures on them, but you know… society will, and what if they… look like a girl?”

“Jasper can be a girl’s name, if they turn out to be a girl at some point that they’re sure of. I love the name Jasper and I think it’s good for a firstborn.”

“Firstborn? You… would really do this again? You HATE being pregnant!”

“I mean… I hated the early days, definitely, but the further we come, the closer I feel to them. Now, I’m like… This is my kid in here, finishing up their formation. No longer a mass of tissue making me feel like my stomach has been kicked around. Now, they’re my little Jasper. After the initial issues, I’m grateful for them.”

.

By seven months, she was at home most of the time. Maybe being a mother could help her segway from the lab, onto somewhere that she might be valued. She was going to keep her hand to the pulse of the science community to figure that part out. Meanwhile, she was able to do most of the nursery by herself, while Jasper took on a few huge clients, including his former employer, and he began negotiations for his first business related book. 

The nursery Charlotte decided to tap into her love for art - something she rarely allowed herself a chance to do very often, because she had been so busy. But, she had been in a baby shop with her mother and saw a cute adorable Creation Story nursery set, so she basically copied that idea, but of course, with a more practical spin. Where Did I Come From? Was painted onto a very lovely sign to hang up right when you walk into the nursery, and the “creation story” along the wall was basically a reenactment of her relationship with Jasper, including some gifts and souvenirs that highlighted certain moments, like the collection of Custom Star Maps that Jasper had began getting her when they were dating and gave to her as an engagement gift. “The moment we first kissed, When you told me that you love me, The night that we… Chef’s Kissed, The night that you decided that I was worth another chance, The night that you said, “Yes.” The next one will be monumental. It’ll be one for the moment you said “I do.”

So, she hung up six custom star maps in the nursery that had a kind of space/planet type decor, stars, sun and moon and stuff on a dark purple color. The custom star maps were designed to look like what the sky looked like at the exact moments that Jasper had ordered them for. The next one, which she intended to hang next to the crib would be the moment that Jasper Jr. was born. She began calling them Jasper Jr. in her mind to differentiate between her Jaspers mentally. 

Jasper loved the idea of putting the maps in the nursery and of course, the idea of Charlotte spending hours chronicling their love on walls for their baby had him a completely mushy mess. 

Henry came over to help out and convince Charlotte to allow him to throw a Sip and See for “Baby Jasper,” which was what Henry called them.

“You got that from Real Housewives,” she said.

“Yeah, and it was fabulous. Imagine us all, dressed in all white, like an all white party or whatever and the baby in their brightest, flyest, boldest outfit and everyone is  sipping bubbly and gushing over Baby Jasper and all he wants is to you know, suck on some titty.”

“Sounds like too much and also, please do not speak of my titties in this way.”

“In the titty way?”

“STOP SAYING TITTY!” She snapped. She calmed down and said, “If you wanna throw a party, you can do the shower. I don’t think I’m having one, otherwise.”

“Your mom’s not doing one? Or Adanna?” He asked, surprised, then immediately called Piper, “Hey! Did you know that we’re supposed to be in charge of Charlotte’s Baby Shower?”

“WHAT??? Since when? Rosemary and Adanna aren’t doing it?”

“I don’t really need one,” Charlotte tried, but Henry and Piper were already in their mode. He was sending her all over the shop for different stuff that she would have to set aside for his Baby Shower vision. Charlotte laid on the couch and ate roasted nuts. They’d be at this for a while and at seven months, she was never in the mood for any of their “extra.”

.

Rosemary and Adanna had been planning a baby shower, but it was proving difficult for them because they kept having to cross out ideas that pertained to gender. Neither of them noticed how much gender related entertainment was a part of baby plans. Even with ordering gifts - Charlotte had given them a list of acceptable items, but whenever Rosemary sent her a photo to ask about something, she often declined, saying, “Something more gender neutral.” 

“You know, this kid isn’t gonna just want gender neutral stuff their whole life, right?”

“When they’re old enough to see stuff that they want and like, then it’s their choice. Right now, anything else would be imposed upon them. I just want Jasper Jr to be able to look back at baby photos of themselves and seeing their baby pictures. Too many people have told me that they look at baby pictures of a body that they didn’t feel connected to, dressed in the wrong type of clothes and playing with toys that they never would have selected for themselves. That’s heartbreaking.”

“Okay, but anybody can be a firefighter!”

“Yes, but that says fireman in training, Mom. If there’s one that says firefighter, sure. I mean, it’s weirdly worded because what baby is “training” to be a firefighter?” Rosemary hung up on her.

Adanna began sewing stuff for them. She didn’t want baby blue or baby pink items, but she accepted baby blue AND baby pink items, so whenever one of them found something that was too cute to live without, Adanna brought it home and touched it up to be a more inclusive outfit. Rosemary joked, “This baby gonna be wearing transgender flags until they can talk!”

Adanna told her, “I am so excited that you’re familiar with a trans flag!”

“Girl, I been studying all the gender neutral stuff that I can to make sure my grandbaby winds up both loved AND fierce, and a lot of the parents with gender neutral upbringing tips are either trans or have trans kids, so I got a lot of flags in my memory banks, now. Have you kept up with Pansy to make sure she’s sticking to stuff properly?”

“I try to not keep up with her as much as possible. I thought since you live in Swellview, you were on that!”

“Ugh, I don’t like her though!”

“Put Cohort on it. She’s good at being around people she doesn’t like, because she doesn’t like anybody.”

“Yeah, but she might give her gills on her face or something if she gets on her nerves too much… Which… You know what? Wouldn’t be my problem! You’re right, Sis.”

.

Charlotte spent most of her free time working on stuff that made her pregnancy easier and fussing about the fact that people didn’t think of a lot of this stuff sooner, then often sulking about the fact that they probably did, but didn’t get the support or funding to make it mainstream because their society didn’t care about reproductive care. It made her consider medical school. Sure, she had been out of college for a few years, but she still could go, and that would pave the way for her to be either away from the lab or more qualified to move to a different one. Maybe, she would be able to be a medical biochemist. She had some familiarity with it, having worked with some in her career. It wasn’t like if she became a medical biochemist she would somehow not be able to do biomedical engineering anymore. She’d be better for it, and so could maternity. Her mother kept sending her reports about the dangers Black women face in the maternity process (thinking that she was unaware or that it was helpful, when really, Charlotte knew all of this information and tried not to think about it so much as she made sure that she would have the proper treatment and care), but it DID light a fire under her about medical school!

The day of the shower, not very long before her due date, Henry and Piper took her to this spa to have a day of pampering, styled her afterwards in this all white maternity gown with one of those halo crowns and Piper did her makeup. “You look like an angel,” Henry gushed.

“A pregnant angel?” she retorted.

“Yes!” He squealed. 

They got back to her house and whenever they pulled in, she was already emotional. Dang pregnancy hormones. There were white, pink and blue flowers and balloons decorating the outside of the place and whenever she got inside, she saw a life sized statue of herself on a pedestal, wearing what she had on right now and as pregnant as she was. “What the?” She looked around, extremely confused.

“It’s my present!” Jasper cheered. She was in shock. “To you… For the…” he gestured at her belly. “It’s a gesture of tribute.” Tears were falling. Was he gonna be doing stuff like this to her for the rest of their lives?

Henry prompted her along, “She’s a little overwhelmed. Let’s get to the shower, Mama.”

Between the four of them - Adanna, Rosemary, Piper and Henry - they were able to organize a beautiful and fun gender neutral baby shower and evaluated all of the gifts beforehand, to ensure they fit the criteria. Jasper had on his crown and remained next to Charlotte the entire time. She looked happy that everyone was there, but very tired, too. His mom and stepdad showed up together. It was the first time he’d seen them together in a while, but his stepdad told him how proud of him he was and how excited he was to finally be a grandfather… Weirdness. Jasper couldn’t help but wonder if it was because he now had money, was very successful and continuously becoming moreso. But, he wasn’t gonna hold a grudge. Years of therapy made him unresentful towards the man and he did seem to genuinely want to be a grandfather. 

Craig did the photos, and the photoshoot, which included pics like Charlotte seated with various groups around her, one with her friends, with her parents, with all the parents, with all the moms, with all the dads… And in all the dads, she somehow wound up with her dad, Jasper’s dads, Ray, Schwoz and Mr. Hart. Her dad stared at the last three whenever they came forward when Craig said, “And now one with the dads!” But Charlotte took his hand into hers and just shook her head. They laughed about it and it became one of her favorites of all of the photos. 

The past nine months had been a voyage that she hadn’t expected. The future was going to be glorious.

[artificialqueens]

Cruising for a bruising, Part 6 (Branjie) - Q-Tip & TheDane

Authors note: Thank you to everyone for your comments, support, understanding and enthusiasm. Q-Tip and I are so happy with the love for this story, and we can’t wait to share this (hopefully) second to last chapter with you guys!

“It’s a real fucking tragedy, that’s what it is. Like some greek irony bullshit.”

-

“Bitch! Open up!” Vanjie hammered on the door, her curled fist meeting the wood over and over again. “I know you’re in there!”

Vanjie knew she was causing a racket, but she couldn’t find it within herself to care. The hotel floor was only her and her sisters anyway, so if any of them had a problem with her making noise, they could suck on it and choke. Vanjie had already knocked down Silky and A’keria’s doors before she remembered they had talked about karaoke. She kicked the door, almost ready to scream in rage. Ariel wasn’t responding, and she was running out of options fast.

“Ariel open the fucking door! Ain’t no way in fucking hell you in there getting dick!”

Vanjie knew she couldn’t go to her own room. Their room. It was the first place Brooke would look for her. Her first and only instinct had been to throw her bag into their room and slam the door behind her, her phone already vibrating like a widow’s favourite sex toy as Brooke was calling her over and over again. Vanjie knew she had made a mistake, but she couldn’t see him right now, her blood still boiling with something even worse going on beneath the surface, tears already pushing to spill from her eyes.

“The stupid motherfucker is going to turn the corner at any moment!”

Vanjie couldn’t see Brooke right now, she just couldn’t, but as long as she was dressed as Vanjie, there was no way she could leave the protected area of their hallway, the idea of her fans seeing her like this forcing her throat to close up.

“Ariel, please.” Vanjie whispered, leaning her head against the door. There was nowhere to run but one of her sisters’ rooms, and she cursed the cruise for forcing this on her. If she had been in L.A she could disappear, go to some straight club and toss down drink after drink, but here everyone knew who she was, and there was no way she would let any of her fans see her like a crazed madman, running from who the public knew to be the love of her life.

Vanjie heard footsteps, her hand gripping the doorknob for one last desperate shake, not yet ready to accept her destiny of blowing up in Brooke’s face once more, when she heard the voice of an angel.

“.. Are you okay?”

Nina fucking West had just come down the hallway, a washed out Winnie the Pooh tank sliding off her shoulder, pyjamas pants on, boy hair out, a half-eaten burger in hand, and she had never looked more perfect to Vanjie. Nina lowered the burger slowly, her eyes watching Vanjie like she was an animal in the zoo, a dollop of ketchup dripping onto the carpet.

“Are you destroying cruise property?”

“I ain’t destroying no fucking proper-”

Vanjie was cut off when the door opened, Ariel poking her head out. She was wearing a zebra print eye mask pushed into her hair, her chest on full display in an open bright pink and turquoise robe.

“Can youse fuckknobs carry your drama to your rooms so us actual beauty queens can get our beauty sleep?” Ariel groaned, leaning against the doorframe, barely hiding a yawn.

“Oh, so this is how you treat refugees, sis?” Vanjie threw her arms out, Ariel’s detached boredom only refueling the fire in her belly. “You better be fucking lucky baby Jesus didn’t plan to get born in your room, huh!?”

“Well you’re neither a baby, nor Jesus last time I checked.”

“You absolute BITCH-”

“Shit!”

Vanjie felt Nina knock the air of her as she was grabbed, the other queen physically restraining Vanjie and picking her up, carrying her away as Vanjie left behind a string of curses so crude even Captain Haddock would blush.

/

Brooke had known, should have known, that Vanjie was smart enough to get rid of her phone, but he had called anyway, over and over again, his heart in his throat as he swiped the card for their room, his worst suspicions confirmed when the room turned out to be pitch black, the outline of Vanjie’s gym bag visible on their bed.

“FUCK!”

Brooke knew no one could hear him, but he yelled anyway, Vanjie’s giant iPhone X clutched in his grip. Brooke pressed the phone, the screen lighting up and he could see his 37 missed calls, his phone bill without a doubt reaching astronomical heights. The background was a picture of them, Brooke holding Vanjie, both of them smiling brightly into the lens, Vanjie’s eyes sparkling with love.

“Shit Jose…”

He had rushed as soon as he could, but they had held him back. Brooke’s hand was throbbing, the bar staff refusing to let him leave until a paramedic had looked at him. He had wanted to protest, had wanted to run after his boyfriend right away, but the staff did have a point, so he had to put on his best behavior, grin and bear it as pieces of glass was fished out of his skin, his left hand ruined. It didn’t help one bit to have Justin there, pelting him with questions about his “psycho” boyfriend.

“Where are you?”

/

“You think you can talk to me like that?! Well I’ll let you meet my real good friends! They’re called Lefty and Righty and you bet they’ll be remodeling your fucking face you son of a cocksucker!”

Getting the door unlocked with a cursing and squrming Vanjie over her shoulder, the Latino wiggling like a fish, was a challenge, but Nina had never been anything but resourceful. Vanjie’s bark was a lot bigger than her bite, and Nina could feel the other queen growing heavier and heavier. A sigh of pure relief left her as she managed to get inside, Nina kicking the door shut behind her before she dumped Vanjie down on the bed, the other queen growing completely quiet, a mix of shock and disbelief on Vanjie’s face.

“So. That was intense.”

They stared at each other, Nina’s blue eyes meeting Vanjie’s brown, neither saying anything. Vanjie tried to get up, but Nina pushed her right back down, a firm hand on her shoulder pushing her back onto the bed.

“What the fuck-”

Vanjie made another attempt, but the same thing happened again, Nina’s palm pushing Vanjie down.

“Take a seat.”

“You’re not the boss of me.”

“I’m not.” The whole thing played out once more, Nina using both hands this time. “But you really need to calm down.”

Having both of Nina’s hands on her shoulders was surprisingly comforting, the heavy weight of Nina’s palms centering and grounding in a way Vanjie hadn’t expected. Her breath was calming down, her heart beat returning to normal. The room was surprisingly cozy and somehow quintessentially Nina, even though it was a hotel room. There were extra pillows on the bed, all of Nina’s stuff neatly unpacked and put away, something neither Vanjie nor Brooke ever bothered to do since they were always on the go, but here, the room almost felt lived in. The ketchup stain on Nina’s shirt caught Vanjie’s attention, the red mark almost making it look like Pooh had been beheaded, the entire thing actually very morbid if you thought about it.

“Feeling better?”

“… No.”

The word caught in Vanjie’s throat, her voice as shaky as she suddenly realised how she felt. It had been sneaking up on her, hiding just under the surface, but Vanjie had pushed it down and then pushed it down even deeper, pouring gallons and gallons of rage on top of it. She wasn’t angry, had never been if she was honest. Instead, she was sad, the sadness so deep it felt embedded in her bones, the hurt from what had happened so sharp she could cut herself on it. Tears welled up in Vanjie’s eyes, Nina’s presence making it impossible to hide.

“I think you should take a shower, get out of drag. Then, if you want, we can talk after.” Nina’s voice was infinitely soft, the wrinkles around her eyes reminding Vanjie of those on her mother’s otherwise youthful face. “What do you say to that?”

“Okay.”

/

“Hey, anyone in there?!”

Brooke was knocking on the fourth door of the night. Both Silky and A’keria had been a bust, so he had started working his way from left to right. Raja had responded right away but she hadn’t left her room all night and was high on top of it, so Brooke had left the moment he had gotten the chance.

“Kameron!”

Brooke sighed, giving it one last knock before he walked to the next. Brooke wasn’t much of a detective, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out that Vanjie was still in drag, their room way too clean for Vanjie to have de-dragged, not a single trace of anyone entering in there except for the bag that looked like it had been thrown. The thought was the only thing that kept Brooke sane, panic bubbling under his skin. If Vanjie was still in drag, it meant she still had to be on their floor. There was no way Vanjie would ever risk a fan seeing her this upset. She cared about her image and her fans way too much, her love for them so genuine Brooke was almost surprised by it at times, Vanjie never leaving a meet and greet or a performance until she was sure everyone had gotten what they came for, even if she was tired to the very bone.

Brooke moved to the next door, his fist almost connecting with the wood, when it was pulled open, Ariel standing right in front of him, looking more pissed than Brooke could ever remember seeing her before.

“What?!”

Brooke knew he should probably ask, inquire as to why his sister and friend appeared to be having a terrible night, but he couldn’t concentrate on anything but one all-important question. Not with his own personal night of hell taking place.

“Have you seen Jose?”

Ariel crossed his arms. “Why?”

“I have to talk to him.”

Ariel looked at him, and Brooke felt like he was being scrutinised, Ariel staring as if she was unveiling his soul, taking a peek at his innermost self.

“She left with Nina.” Ariel sighed, standing up. “I think they’re in her room.”

Brooke hugged Ariel, the other queen losing her breath as Brooke almost crushed every bone in her body.

“Thank you.” Brooke smiled. “Thank you thank you thank you.”

Brooke released Ariel, taking off in a run, the only thing on his brain one simple sentence.

/I’m coming baby./

/

Nina had the opening scene of Lilo and Stitch playing, the movie one of Nina’s favorites, when Vanjie returned from the shower. Nina had just thrown the first and the best from his dresser at Vanjie, which had turned out to be a Minnie Mouse shirt. Vanjie looked like a child, the fabric reaching his knees, his arms tucked behind his back, even his expression matching the outfit since Vanjie looked like a ten-year-old boy that knew he was in trouble.

Nina held a plate forward, presenting Vanjie with the pizza she’d ordered while Vanjie was showering.

“No burger?” he asked, approaching the bed like an animal with its guard up.

“Lost my lust for it,” Nina didn’t mention how she had dropped it in the hallway when she was trying to keep Vanjie from knocking out Ariel’s fake teeth, not thinking it appropriate for the situation she was trying to defuse. “Want a slice?”

“Mmh,” Vanjie hummed, grabbing a slice and sitting tentatively on the edge of the bed.

It was rather strange. One minute Nina had seen Vanjie out in the hall, about to tear down any and all walls around him, and the next Vanjie was a wounded baby bird in a severely oversized shirt and pyjama shorts that barely stayed up, seemingly afraid of her. Nina gulped down the last bite of her slice, licking her fingers.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Vanjie asked, his voice is infinitely small. Although confused, Nina could feel her heart ache. If Vanjie was here, with her, instead of being with Brooke, something had to be seriously seriously wrong.

“Are you undeserving of someone being nice to you?”

“Right now I am, that’s for fucking sure.” Vanjie half scoffed, half laughed. “When Brock finds my ass, it’ll be even worse. It’s a real fucking tragedy, that’s what it is. Like some greek irony bullshit.”

“You’re hiding from Brooke?” Nina had noticed that she hasn’t seen Vanjie use her phone. The electronic device usually never more than inches away from Vanjie’s hand.

“Why else would I be breaking into Ariel’s room? Just to hang out?” Vanjie laughed, short and crude. “Ain’t nothing good in her room but her collection of highlighters. That shit is intense.”

Nina smiled. “Here.” She had once said on her podcast that dating Vanjie would never be boring, and she hadn’t been proven wrong yet.  “Have some more water.”

Vajie took the bottle, tentatively taking a sip. “I ain’t ready to see his face and hear his mouth tell me how I done fucked up.” Vanjie looked at the pizza, taking another slice with a deep sign. “At least I won’t have to lie about being okay with pineapple on pizza if he breaks up with me.”

Nina wants to be surprised, she really does. But most of all, she’s just confused. “Brooke adores the ground you walk on.”

“Sure bitch.”

“He doe-” A knock on the door interrupts them both, Nina holding her breath as she realised that it had to be Brooke, but Vanjie simply looked at her, almost challenging her to prove that she was right.

/

“.. Are you bleeding?”

Brooke looked at his hand, Nina’s concern so genuine he was surprised for a minute. The white bandage was indeed turning red, his excessive knocking cause the wounds to bleed. Brooke honestly couldn’t find it in himself to care.  “Only a little.”

Nina had opened the door after two knocks, Brooke’s stomach falling in disappointment when he hadn’t come face to face with Vanjie. Nina looked almost strange, the expression on her face one Brooke couldn’t remember he had ever seen before.

Brooke’s skin was itching to know how his boyfriend was doing. He couldn’t hear any noise from the room besides the TV, no obvious signs of a battle meeting his eyes from what he could see behind Nina. No knocked over lamps or coffee machines, no cracked TV screens or broken chairs. It was quiet. Suspiciously quiet.

“Is he still mad?”

Brooke was used to Vanjie’s moods, his partner’s ADHD showing up so differently from Brooke’s own. Vanjie often exploded in fireworks that fizzled away as quickly as they appeared. He felt everything, his feelings magnified and sometimes to the extreme, but sorrow and happiness shining so bright that it was sometimes all consuming.

It wasn’t unusual for Vanjie to go off in fits of rage if he was even slightly provoked, their washing machine at home already replaced once after Vanjie had kicked it for changing the color of his favorite hoodie, not recognizing his own fault until after the machine had broken. The whole thing at the bar had been just as explosive, Vanjie firing off and Brooke’s brain had honestly shut down, the entire thing happening so fast he had barely had time to react, everything afterwards a desperate chase to find Vanjie and make sure he was okay.

“Come check for yourself.”

Nina stepped aside, and Brooke walked in, his heart clenching in relief when he saw him on the bed. Nina had obviously gotten to him, all traces of Vanjie washed off as Jose sat on the bed, hair still wet, in an oversized Minnie Mouse shirt and a half eaten pizza between them.

“Love the new look.”

Brooke watched Vanjie’s face, hoping his joke, however bad, would lighten the mood a little. Nina snorted in the background, and Brooke could just imaging the wry smile on her face.

“So.. That whole thing was..” Brooke ran a hand through his hair. He felt incredibly awkward, Vanjie’s brown eyes watching him like a hawk. Brooke had never been one to investigate after fights, had never cared about anyone enough to make up after a fight. “It was kinda crazy, huh?”

“You don’t seem mad.”

“You lost it. It’s okay.”

Vanjie bit his lip, his eyes finding the number that was still written on Brooke’s arm.

“I know how it looks.” Brooke sighed, pulling down on his sleeve, his injured hand aching. “But I promise nothing happened.”

“It looked like something happened.”

“He lives in New Jersey, and I’m in New York in November. We both wanted to watch Balanchine-”

“Bless you.”

Brooke rolled his eyes. “I didn’t sneeze, it’s a ballet. They’re doing La Sou-”

“I know you didn’t sneeze, I’m not fucking stupid.”

“Well you’re acting like it.”

Brooke realised instantly that he had said the wrong thing, his drunken brain getting the best of him, Vanjie shooting up like a lightning bolt.

“What did you just call me?!”

Brooke looked up. He had to, since Vanjie was standing on the bed, the tiny Puerto Rican taller than himself for once, Nina gasping in the background, and Brooke knew he had to act fast.

“We both know you overreacted.” Brooke reached out for the first time, trying to grab Vanjie’s hips to steady his clearly still angry and tipsy boyfriend. “Jose, can we please just call it a night? Please?”

“Overreacted? Overreacted!” Vanjie shoved Brooke’s hands away, his voice growing even louder. “How ‘bout you look real fucking close, cause you ‘bout to win an Oscar for underreacting! I might have thrown a drink and I might be fucking stupid, but at least I ain’t no fucking eyefucker!

Brooke groaned, his own rage growing. He knew he should be sensible, that he should pull back towards sanity, but he just couldn’t help it. Tequila was one powerful foe. “I haven’t eyefucked anyone!”

“Don’t you lie, I was there when y’all was talking about that fucking book!”

“My hand was /literally/ in your shirt!” Brooke wanted to tear out his hair, his frustration so rich he had completely forgotten Nina was even in the room. “I introduced you as my boyfriend. What more do you want?!”

“For you to realise what that word means and be fucking loyal!”

“Everyone knows I belong to you!” Brooke grapped Vanjie’s shirt, his fist cluthing the fabric, his voice low with venom as he spat. “Should I wear a fucking collar? Would that make you happy?”

Brooke pulled at Vanjie, their faces so close Brooke could feel each breath “Property of Jose Cancel, or is that not recognisable enough for you? Should it be Vanessa Vanjie fucking Mateo instead?!”

It briefly crossed Brooke’s mind that this wasn’t right, that this wasn’t how all those relationship courses on youtube had taught him to deal with an argument, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

If you asked, Brooke wouldn’t be able to tell who moved first, but suddenly they were kissing, Vanjie’s hands in Brooke’s hair, teeth, lips, tongues all crashing together in a thunder of emotion, rage and lust, a battle for dominance that screamed to the sky, neither of them even noticing the door slamming behind them, Nina making a run for it at the first chance she got.

[cksmart-world]

The completely unnecessary news analysis

by Christopher Smart

February 2, 2020

WHY REPUBLICANS NIXED WITNESSES

1 - He did it, but it's not an impeachable offense.

2 - He did it, but let the voters decide in November.

3 – This is a hoax lynching, so F-off.

4 - The House didn't have any first-hand witnesses, so it's Nancy Pelosi's fault.

5 - Jon Bolton is a disgruntled, rabid, angry man who had a bad childhood.

6 - We can't waste time on this, because if we do, we can't waste time on other stuff.

7 - The whistle blower is a subversive communist who must be unmasked and hanged, or at least given a pantsing by Rand Paul.

8 - He did it, but if I vote for witnesses, I'll be disinvited from CPAC and be reduced to drinking milkshakes with Mitt Romney in the cloakroom — I could even wind up with my head on a pike.

9 - He did it, but if we call witnesses, Americans will get an up-close account of how to run a criminal enterprise from the White House and that would hurt our democracy.

10 - He did it, but Congress has given up its constitutional mandate to check the power of the president. Long live Trump.

DUCK AND COVER, LEGISLATURE IN SESSION

The staff here at Smart Bomb has loaded up on emergency supplies: water, trail mix, flashlights and toilet paper — everything needed to survive a cataclysm. That's right, the Utah Legislature is in session. One of the slimiest and oft-used ploys on Capital Hill is something called a “boxcar.” That's when a legislator puts up a bill that is blank. Cagey lawmakers then wait until the last minute confusion of the session to sneak in language out of the Old Testament and have it voted through before anyone can say, lights out. But the staff here at Smart Bomb has cleverly embedded moles in the Republican caucus to get the skinny. One boxcar would amend Utah liquor law to mandate that fine wine be served in beer mugs. This would dissuade people from drinking wine. A companion boxcar would mandate that beer be served only in champaign flutes. Imagine that at the Twilight Lounge. Another boxcar would force pregnant women to watch a fetus grilled on the spit of a Weber Barbecue before seeking an abortion. This is when some new residents call back the Mayflower Movers. Our intel has it that another one would require everyone over 18 to carry a firearm. The legislation is labeled, “The Safe Utah Law.” Wilson and the band have loaded up on California bud and Pabst Blue Ribbon — it's going to be a long, strange haul to March 14.

CALIFORNIA DREAMIN' IN FINALND

The American Dream is a lot easier to achieve in Finland. So says Sanna Marin, the Finnish prime minister. “We have a very good education system. We have a good health-care and social welfare system that allows anybody to become anything.” These are probably some of the reasons Finland gets ranked the happiest country in the world.” The United States is ranked 17th. Nordic countries are at the top of the World Economic Forum’s “Social Mobility Index,” that evaluates how citizens from all walks of life fare in health, educational achievement and income. The United States ranks No. 27. Don't tell that to Donald Trump (not that you could). But that's not all. In Finland health care is free — for everyone. The Finn's spend about $4,000 per person per year. The U.S. health-care system, by contrast, spends more than $10,000 per person per year. And no surprise, Finns are healthier. Finland also has one of the lowest poverty rates in the world — 6.3 percent compared to 11.8 percent in the U.S. All of that may be true, but the Finns don't have the Super Bowl and pelvis-grinding half-time shows. So put that in your kalakukko and smoke it.

SUPER SUNDAY IS AS AMERICAN AS GUACAMOLE

The nation's big celebration is in the books for another year and many people actually know who won the game. By Easter, few will remember the come-from-behind spectacle of Patrick Mahomes and the Kansas City Chiefs. But, hey, the important thing is that Americans all got together in front of a TV and didn't talk politics. We were united by chicken wings and guacamole. Americans ate 1.38 Billion (with a 'B') chicken wings, according to Food & Drink magazine. (We did not make this up.) But that's not all. Americans devoured an estimated 153 Million pounds of avocados for guacamole on Super Sunday, along with 14,500 tons of chips. To wash it all down, we drank an estimated 162 million gallons of beer. On average, each American consumed 2,400 calories. Football, of course, is a dangerous sport — for spectators: Since 2013, avocado accidents  (removing the pit with a knife) have accounted for 27,059 trips to the emergency room — the majority of which occurred on Super Sunday. There is no reliable data on hangovers, but a potentially record number of people took Monday off. It's the god's honest truth.

Post Script — There it is, another historic week here at Smart Bomb. And when we say historic, we aren't just whistling “Dixie.” This will go down as the time when unabashed Republican senators tied themselves up in integrity pretzels that even they found embarrassing. Can't you just see Lindsey Graham years from now in his rocking chair gazing out at yesteryear: “The Devil made me do it.” Right. Closer to the present, Michael Bloomberg has drawn first blood in our never-ending presidential campaign: “Trump is a pathological liar who lies about everything: his fake hair, his obesity, and his spray-on tan.” Ouch. That hit the Insulter-In-Chief right where he lives.  And speaking of Trumpness, Brian Wilson has called for a boycott of The Beach Boys over their upcoming engagement at a trophy-hunting event featuring Donald Trump Jr. Mike Love is the only remaining member of the '60s California band, who sang about surfing, cars, girls and big-game safaris. WTF. The original quintet (The Wilson brothers, Brian Dennis and Carl and their cousin, Al Jardine) wouldn't  be caught dead posing with a leopard carcass. “Help me Rhonda, help me Rhonda now, shoot that big ol' rhinoceros...” Yecht. There ought to be a law. But what are you going to do?

OK, Wilson, wake up the band and take us out with a little feel-good for Punxsutawney Phil's early spring: Well, she got her daddy's car / And she cruised to the hamburger stand, now / Seems she forgot all about the library / Like she told her old man, now / And with the radio blasting / Goes cruising just as fast as she can now / And she'll have fun, fun, fun till her daddy takes the T-bird away...

[praphit]

JW 3: excommunication vs badassery -  WHO YA GOT?!

Well, I'm back here again talkin about John mother bleepin Wick; that must mean that people are messing with him again.

In the 1st movie, we learn that John Wick belonged to a secret soceity of assassins, but he got out of the game, so he could properly grieve his dead wife. The only piece of that life he had was in a puppy, and some assholes came around and killed that puppy.

A puppy! Not John Wick's old dog who had lived a full life and kinda wanted to go cuz he's seen too much shit - they killed John Wick's cute, innocent, lil puppy!

So, JW had to kill not only the people who killed his puppy (no no no no no),but everyone associated with them: family, friends, if you have ever delivered a pizza to those scumbags, if you bagged their groceries, it was on!

He killed 3 guys who were involved in a bar once with a pencil! A PENCIL! Who does that?! Who says to themselves "Man, I'm so mad that I'm gonna go into that bar and kill three men with this number 2." Who?! An unstable human being, that's who! I love him, but damn!

In the 2nd movie, they said , "John Wick has gone too far! Yeah, we killed your pup, but you didn't have to take out the our whole community!" Soooo, they decided to take more of his stuff - they stole his car. They got Ruby Rose and Common after him to say "Look, John, we're square, let us take the car, we'll rough you up just a little bit... and let this all go."

But, you already killed the man's puppy, now you gonna swipe his ride? What the hell is wrong with y'all?! You know who this man is!

Of course, John Wick had to kill off multiple gangs, along with Ruby and Common. For one night, the streets were literally painted red with blood. John Wick's killing went beyond cinema. Those actors haven't been the same since. Ruby Rose has given up movie making for the CW network, to make-out with women while dressed as a bat (not making that up) She figures she can hide in the CW. 

Look at her... she’d rather look ridiculous than be near anything John Wick related. 

I don't think Common has put out any hit songs since that John Wick 2. The carnage that he saw in the production of that movie was mind-shattering.

They said  - "John Wick! That's it! We tried to square things up, but you wouldn't listen! Now, you're excommunicado!"

Now, in the church world, I know what excommunication means - no more Ritz crackers and wine for you, dirty stares when church folk see you at the market, they draw devil horns on your pic in the prayer list, and you're no longer invited to church picnic's, but they never send people out to beat yo ass. Can you imagine if church were that serious?? A pastor having a pack of assassins just waiting for you to disobey him/her. Maybe Russia would do that... seems like they might do church differently out there.

But, that's where we're at with “John Wick 3: Parabellum!”

He's been cast out of the fold! No one is allowed to help him. They cancelled his social media accounts, his gym and yoga memberships, and coupons at Whole Foods. They beat the hell out of him. Told him he’s got one hour until certain horrible death. Took ALL his shit! He's done!

In John Wick's time of need there are only two people that he can turn to. Two people who haven't totally turned their backs on him - Halle Berry and that woman from "The Addams Family"; good ol what's her face. 

So, he's off (though a bit beaten up and bloody), to murder everyone in his path to finding these two people. It's like a video game in a sense - there should be an action total at the end of each scene:

112 dead

52 shots to the head

34 broken limbs 432 bullets fired 40 gallons of blood spilled

10 dicks and 7 balls chomped on by Halle Berry's dogs

Number of New Yorkers freaked out by all of this (0)

He kills people with a horse! No joke! 

And a book - at one point John Wick destroys a giant of a man: busts up his ribs, his knees, his shins, his kidneys, his balls, his jaw, his neck... all with a book. I'll never see a bookshelf in a home the same again.

All of this mayhem and blood leads John Wick out into the desert. Where he has to meet with some high elder to... do a job to reverse the excommunicado to... be... an assassin slave or something... idk. There are people out there who may complain about the lack of sensible story in this movie, and... yep! - they're right, but you know... it's all about survival and revenge - what more do you need??

The real hero of this movie is a doctor that John sees in the beginning, who gives him some pills that take away the pain, and give him energy. Those pills are the things of superhumans, cuz that's all he needs for most of this movie. I saw him take a couple of sips of bourbon, and drink some of Halle Berry's spit (don't ask). But, that's all he needed to do all of this killing for nearly a week. I didn't see him stop at Burger King, or grab an energy drink, or take a nap (think of the great opps for product placement --- John Wick doesn't sleep often, but when he does, I bet it's on a Casper Matress), I didn't even see him use the restroom; which he probably needed cuz he was running weird throughout this whole movie - like he needed to pee and his pants were too tight. That's the real tragedy of John Wick - never having time to pee or buy new pants that fit.

But, apparently, John Wick doesn't need any of those things, all he needs is Halle Berry's spit. Just a couple of sloppy, slurpy kisses from Halle and a man or woman is set!

Yes, this movie lacks a bit in plot, but John Wick has always been about the amazing ballet of kills. There is a literal ballet influence as we see a glimpse of John's background - and it's a ballet/wrestling school... that also teaches young kids how to kill. The fighting is just as creative and pretty as in the last two movies, with A LOT more blood.

All is murderously fun enough to subside some disbelief, until... I won't spoil much, but... look, I've watched John Wick get shot, stabbed in crucial arteries, break bones, get hit by two cars, sliced up by all sorts of sharp objects... he keeps going, ok... we're living by "Fast & Furious" rules, whatever, but at one point he goes over the edge of a multiple story building. A BUILDING! He gets shot, falls over, hits multiple objects on the way down, and then SPLAT! - and he’s STILL ALIVE AND READY TO BEAT ASS. Forget "Fast & Furious" we're living by "Looney Tunes" rules.

At another point, he loses a finger (minor spoiler, but it doesn't matter to the plot), if that finger had grown back, it wouldn't have surprised me.

C'mon, man... I've got to take off points for that.

It's a fun movie. Fans of the series will def enjoy it; I did for sure! If you're a casual fan, you'll prob have to suspend the part of your brain that tries to make sense of things, and simply enjoy, but it's worth a watch, if you love action.

Grade: B

I did feel sorry for the simple 9-5 henchman in this movie. Just out there trying to support your family, in a world where John Wick is killing people with pencils. If I were said henchmen, I think I'd pretend to get hit and knocked out by John Wick. Only John Wick normally shoots everybody in the head (many times) before leaving a scene. I'd have to smash a couple of ketchup packets on my head or something; I'd figure something out cuz I sure as hell ain't messing with a killer like him.

An actor I didn't mention is Asia Kate Dillon known as "The Adjudicator". 

She is excellent btw Trying to enforce rules, and I get it! You've gotta keep people accountable to the rules in a world full of assassins, but... if John Wick is the one breaking the rules... maybe you should let that shit go. That's the morale here. Follow the rules! And if you break the rule, you had better be as badass and indestructible as John Wick. He caused so much death in these three movies over a dog getting shot; this series is like a PETA wet dream, and judging on how awesome this dream is, it may continue way passed 3 movies.

[chordstrvck-blog]

sharp gray eyes size up their unwanted companion through a lung-staled waft of smoke. “ ‘ey. ”  a tip of the chin. cigarette ash darts to pavement. crunch. eddie grinds that shit in, real good. nothin’ like a pair of trusty docs to do the trick. “ what the fuck’s your damage ? ”

or alternatively :  yo, yo, whassgood ?  the name’s liana ( she/her/hers ) and i am so friggin’ hyped to bring you my spoopy lil’ music man, eddie williams !!  below the cut you’ll find a big hodge-podged mess of facts, potential connects, and other delicious chips of info. his favorites are hoppin’ jalapeno crunch tators, thanks for fuckin’ askin’. (   imagine how heartbroken he’ll be when frito lay discontinues them in the 90′s... rest in spaghetti never forgetti.    )

— ❝ wait is that THOMAS HAYES ? or is that KEITH EDISON “EDDIE” WILLIAMS who arrived in las vegas TWENTY-THREE years ago? HE is TWENTY-THREE years old. last time i checked they were a GUITARIST IN CRIMSON & CLOVER / ARTIST AT ATOMIC TATTOOS . rumour has it they’re very BEGUILING and very HARUM-SCARUM. the CISMALE reminds me of SAY WHAT YOU WILL BY FASTWAY.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: DEATH, DOMESTIC ABUSE, VIOLENCE, DRUG USE/ABUSE, MENTIONS OF ADDICTION.

eddie is the lovely ivy williams [ @poiseonxivy​ ] ’s older brother !  they grew up in a contentious household here in vegas, with an abusive alcoholic for a father and a complacent/despondent mother. fed up with the abuse and chaos, their mother walked out on them when eddie was 13. he and ivy caught her in the act, and this savage kid called her out for being a coward and opened the fuckin’ door for her. “ die in a ditch, ”  is the last thing he ever said to that sorry waste of a woman.

naturally, things with their father only got worse. he was quick to provoke and impossible to please. the williams siblings had to step up to upkeep their home, make sure bills got paid, etc., all while receiving the worst of it from their father. ivy, as the youngest, was blamed for the family’s downfall. eddie got berated and slurred at for his tendency to peruse his sister’s things, paint his middle fingers interesting colors, ask her to do his makeup on halloween. his father was the first person to ever look eddie in the eye and call him a faggot, and, well... that shit dug deep.

it’s not that he’s overly concerned about it. hell, labels are fuckin’ dumb, alright? he’d sooner be gagged with a spoon than told he has to live his life all boxed up. he doesn’t care that the lady at the bar’s stunning and so is the guy pourin’ her drink, alright? what he does care about is... what if he is that thing his dad said? what if he... what if he is the man his dipshit dad saw in him ?

guitarist in el’s band, crimson & clover !  the band formed several years ago and has been playing gigs ever since. it’s definitely made him grow as a guitarist :  you can frequently find eddie chilling on fire escapes experimenting with new riffs and the like. he’s absolutely got that band aesthetic ––  distressed tees, tight pants, leather, leather, leather. doc martens. beat up sneaks. jaw-length hair, wavy. usually teased on stage and left to its own devices off-stage. music has always been an escape for him, especially from the hellscape that was his childhood home. catch him chillin in el’s record shop, cig in hand, blissed out to the latest rock releases blasting in his headphones.

jake wheeler’s next-door neighbor / best friend !  we have yet to plot about this, but that’s a wc eddie fills & we could do something with that, too!

tw: drugs, abusive tendencies, mild violence.  eddie’s genetics do predispose him to addiction. and, unfortunately, this bitch way more than dabbles in a haphazard lifestyle. he’s BIG into psychedelics, stimulants. alcohol. acid. he’ll pulverize the occasional bar asshole’s face. make fights out of nothing. but s’not a problem, alright ? he’s cool. he’s cool.   (  this guy’s a sinkin’ ship in heavy ass denial.  )

art. tattooing.  art has also played a pivotal role in eddie’s life. from a very young age, he created edgy doodles: skeletons in their sunday best, ghost cartoons carrying guns. the late 60′s/early 70′s saw his school notebooks filling with vietnam-inspired strips, doodles, and sketches. he used to draw “tattoos” on his fellow delinquents during detention in sharpie ink. gave himself his first poke tattoo on his ankle  ( a scrawled so what ? )  in eighth grade. now, he works as a tattooist at atomic tattoos. always flirts with the clientele. and they always leave happy.

tw: death. wears a dharma wheel pendant at all times, tucked beneath his shirt or, if he’s shirtless, just out in the open. he’ll say he found it in the street, but it actually belonged to a guy he started seeing his senior year of high school, in secret.  glenn farley. he was older, around 27, but he offered up the first safe place eddie’d ever known. dude disappeared close to eddie’s graduation. eddie stayed angry for a long time, until his photo turned up in the obits :  glenn was killed in a hit-and-run outside a dive bar.

on the topic of sexuality & gender expression :   eddie honestly couldn’t give a flyin’ shit. he’s of the belief that existence shouldn’t be coded or explained. so, yeah, he’s male. and yeah, he’ll be attracted to whomever he pleases. but in a time where that shit’s not too common? not too accepted? he does feel like he’s playing hide-and-seek. it’s exhausting. and... there’s still something that nags him, at the back of his mind, when he decides to hook up with a guy. it’s all tied up with his family history ( see the stuff about his dad above ) .

eddie is very outspoken & unfiltered. he won’t mince his words; he’ll speak bullets without considering the exit wound. 

he’d much rather have coffee and cigarettes than a meal. but if he’s gotta have food? and you’re forcing him? cinnamon waffles with ten gallons of syrup. delicious.

wears rings because hell, if he’s gonna punch you, he wants that shit to hurt.

smells like tobacco and amber and fresh-fallen rain.

likes makeup. tends to get away with some eyeliner/eyeshadow on stage, but typically doesn’t wear any day-to-day. maybe some eyeliner on his waterline, but... he’s learned how to get by.

cross his sister and he’ll eat your face for breakfast.

default greeting: blinking at you like you’re offending him by taking in the same air.

honestly he’s never thought to leave vegas. he likes it here. his crew? they’re good people. as in reckless. fun.

has almost a full sleeve on his left arm, and two bands curling around his right bicep. one ear pierced, but doesn’t always wear an earring there.

can he offer you a winter green lifesaver in this trying time ??

goes by eddie or williams. call him keith and he can’t be held responsible for what happens to you. the only person who’s got keith privileges is his kid sister.

thomas hayes has brown eyes but eddie’s are a staggeringly light blue-gray. they look like ice. he’s 6′1 and that type of lanky that tends to look sleek, enticing, and mildly emaciated. he does have muscle to him, but the guy doesn’t eat very often and he’s on a steady diet of destructive habits, so... he’s got that matty healy circa 2012 vibe going on

potential connects.

chaos crew. they hit the clubs. they try their hand at scheming and tricking the best poker leagues. chug beers, crush the cans, and toss ‘em in front of cars. experiment with drug cocktails and haunt the town. all laughs and dilated pupils and forgetting, forgetting, forgetting the cracks in their ribs, the scabs on their knuckles. nothin’ hurts when your blood pumps this quick.

diner pal.  eddie rolls up to his favorite diner in the wee hours of the morning. 2am, 3am. when he can’t sleep or he’s comin’ down from a heckish night, he’s there, whole pitcher of coffee and a stack of waffles. mussed hair. an entire encyclopedia of wild stories. one night, he stumbled into this person’s booth high as all shit, and they’ve been inviting themselves to one another’s tables ever since. could be a romantic connection. could be platonic.

ex on bad terms.  kid’s got commitment issues. i’d love to give them a source.

fuckbuddies.  they could just be friends who get fucked and do the deed. maybe there’s feelings. maybe it’s a you service me, i’ll service you situation. either way, they’re indulgent. they’re reckless. and they’ve got no regard for any damage they’ll cause.

people he’s tattooed.  

sworn enemies.  acerbic words, gnashing teeth, icy glares. they’ll cross the fuckin’ street just to avoid being within a ten-foot radius of one another.

caretaker.  a friend ( or even stranger ) who’s taken it on themselves to monitor this maelstrom. all i can say is... good friggin’ luck, kid.

obviously there are so many more but this is just a list to get some juices flowing !

if you want to plot, please feel free to message me !!  i’m headed to the gym now but after that i’ll hit up the starter tags !!  so flipping excited to write with you goons !!

[artinterviewmagazine]

Conversation With Taj Bourgeois On Selling Their Paintings Online For A Living

Marius Larsson: So first of all how long have you been selling paintings? About 2 years now? Taj Bourgeois: Yeah I quit my job driving taxi in December so a little over 2 years. I had a week where I made negative $70 and that was that. I had to do something different. ML: What made you think you could make it as an artist, and how did you initially get started? TB: I didn’t think I could make it lol, but also felt like it might be my last chance to give it my all. If I didn’t at least try once in my life I was concerned I’d feel like a hypocrite if I were to tell my daughter to follow her dreams. Pretty much I just posted on Facebook “Would anyone like to commission a painting?”. I got five responses, one of which was for $600. Honestly I don’t know if I would’ve felt the drive to commit if it weren’t for that, but also my strategy was and has been basically to just make paintings everyday, so people would see I was taking it seriously and in turn take me seriously. ML: And had you been painting much prior? TB: I had made like 7 or 8 paintings in the months leading up to it, so people were aware what I was getting into and I guess displaying some level of skill. Prior to that I hadn’t really painted since around the time my daughter was born in 2012. ML: What kinds of things did you start off painting? TB: In 2012 or in the months before doing it full time? ML: Tell me about 2012, why you took a break for 4 years and then what got you back into it in 2016. TB: When I found out I was going to be a father I had been in college for just a couple semesters taking random art classes. I was just there for the school loans... ya know.. didn’t want to get a job. Anyway I was in a painting class, and it was pretty much my first time painting. I watched the Basquiat documentary “The Radiant Child”, and it made me think about painting in a very different way. A few months after my daughter was born and I won a couple awards for paintings I did for the college’s annual art show. Then I enrolled at the Pacific Northwest College of Art for the Fall semester, but by that point I was learning about hundreds of artist’s on my own time, and was becoming inspired to try all kinds of things other than painting. I felt I did so well that semester that I decided college wasn’t going to be a good use of time or money, so I dropped out and just followed my train of thought for the next 4 years which led back to painting. ML: How did it lead back to painting? TB: I had been driving taxi for a year and a half, and during that time I felt more and more disconnected from any of my previous modes of art making. I was pretty much sitting in the cab making memes and digital collages. Toward the end the collages I was doing started to become more refined, and I started thinking about the merits of painting the imagery I was putting together. The first thing I painted after all that time was an image of flaming goose which was a meme that had been going around. I decided to painted it very large. It was just something I thought would help test the waters again, and also something I figured I’d like to have on my wall. Of course painting a giant meme is going to get a good response online, so I did a couple more, and then painted some scenes from photos, and then from my imagination. Tried to paint the collages I had made but didn’t quite feel right to try to change their medium. ML: Ok so you had a few commissions and then what? You’d post your paintings for sale and people just kept buying them? TB: Yeah although the first 6 months were pretty rough. In April I only made $500, so I was cutting it close, but I was still in the mindset that most artists have, which is like their art has some mysterious value to it and should be expensive, but then I realized it would make more sense if I took it more seriously as a job and charge by the hour, so I started painting more small funny stuff. Like for me it made more sense to sell a bunch of little humorous $50 pieces than cross my fingers on a $300 piece cause it would take me the same amount of time to do 6 of the $50 ones. It wasn’t until around 6 months that I made my first piece that multiple people wanted, and so what I did was make it multiple times, and that’s when things started to pick up. ML: And what was that piece? TB: It was spider man on the floor of an art museum looking up at a painting of a goofy fish with a human face, and spider man is saying in a thought bubble “That Painting Looks The Way I Feel!” It was originally from an old comic and spider man had been looking at some kind of parody Picasso portrait, but you know with memes pieces get replaced, and the mood changes. The fish’s face was a better mood than the Picasso probably.

ML: How many paintings had you made by that point? TB: Around 70, but had sold maybe 20 ML: What materials were you using? TB: During the taxi days I was in the store (Fred Meyer) and saw this canvas that house painters just lay on the floor to catch the paint drips, and I was like damn 4x15ft for $13? I should get some in case I feel up to making some big paintings someday, but I have always been such a frugal person that it wasn’t until I saw the apple barrel brand paints that I was like damn ok lemme just buy a couple of every color and see if I’m into this. I also bought a gallon of white house paint to “gesso” the canvas. I still use this method on big pieces, and can always stretch later, but lately have been buying a lot of canvas already prepped and stretched. ML: So do you only sell through Facebook and Instagram? TB: Yes oddly enough that’s like 95% of sales. A few every now and then from irl shows where I live here in Portland (Oregon).

ML: I want to go back to something for a second. You mentioned you started painting in 2012, but then you won a couple awards a few months later. How old were you. How did you excel so quickly considering you said you hadn’t painted prior and what were those painting? TB: I was 24. I think painting is one of those mediums where “ability” is far more subjective than most things. You can view enough of it without trying it yourself to the point that when you do try you’ll already have a grasp of it. I have been interested in painting my whole life, so picking up the brush I already had thousands of hours of experience just thinking about it ya know, so like with that show at the college I knew I wanted to make something big and bold. So I cut myself a 4x7ft canvas and ended up making this multi-colored deer looking straight ahead with sort of hypnotic gaze. That was a people’s choice award, and the other got me a scholarship offer, but for that one I basically had just copied Twombly lol.

ML: How would you describe your style today? TB: Hmm I try not to, cause I try all kinds of stuff. I feel my technical skill level is mediocre but maybe my creative level is high? Different people are going to appreciate different things, and I’ve always been more interested in what the painting depicts over how it’s made. I mean skill aside I think most paintings are pretty umm I want to say “derivative” haha are people still using that word in serious? I’m having fun though, staying curious, and I think that comes across. What’s the point of describing my “style” anyway?

ML: I’m curious about how you view your own work. TB: I view my own work with my own eyes lol. I view my art like a loving father or maybe more like an observer, a bird watcher? No, ok I think I understand this question now. My approach to painting is often like a mix of writing, drawing, and making memes. Often I have the idea and it doesn’t really matter how I get there unless the technique is the content itself as with a lot of abstract art. Like, I will entirely base a painting on a sentence describing the image itself with little concern about how i will make it. Like “a shuriken stuck in the back of a smiling man”, so I’ll paint some sky, a fence, some grass, blue jeans, man has no shirt, shuriken, blood, he’s holding a beer, he’s smiling alright i did it… nice. That’s one way I view my work as a route to an image. I used to do this all the time before painting. I have an art book from 2015 where I used this method a lot like I’d write down ideas, and then go out and make them happen. Some elements of the end result were arbitrary although I always tried to have good composition and quality documentation. I didn’t think of myself as a photographer though I certainly was and was good at that aspect too, but it was more the means to document my performance, sculpture, installation… sentence made real. I also view a good portion of my paintings as elaborate pages ripped from children’s books that don’t exist (yet) and they’re filled with weird cute characters I never really had any intention to keep making in the first place, but I’m still doing it for some reason maybe because I like the idea of an overarching narrative, but mostly I think cause they give me a deep nostalgia for illustrations in picture books I saw as a kid or like panels from graphic novels.

ML: That answer is all over the place! I guess that’s what i get for asking such a broad question, but there’s a lot to work with there. Tell me about being a Father. You said it was kind of the catalyst to start making art. How do you think it’s affected your work? TB: Naturally it changed everything. Before my daughter was born I was just so much more aloof, timid, uncertain about making anything. I’d spend so many days just floating around “hanging out” drinking, smoking etc. Maybe I’d draw a little, write a little, play some music, but always felt like I was just killing time waiting for something to happen, and then it did. Suddenly I felt obligated to be at home most of the time, ya know, like a good dad. Other than that I was still in school making the most of it for the short time being. So for that first year I was either home with her or at school. I was just making stuff every day all the time, and it became an insatiable habit especially once I started sharing it online. Yeah honestly I felt the pressure was on. Like I had waited too long to pursue my passions so I had to make up for lost time. I’ve been addicted to making and sharing things everyday ever since. As for my daughter’s influence, yeah I love watching her grow and the things she makes inspire me as well. I’m a bit of a romantic when it comes to modern art and its mythos. I still vibe off what picasso said about how it took him his whole life to paint like a child, so I feel really grateful to work with her. I have literally thousands of her drawings stacked all over the place. She’ll sit down and do fifty drawings in an hour so I’ve gotten a white board lol. Also like I mentioned before it was kind of insane of me to quit my job to become a painter, like I have a kid, rent, bills, a car, and I’m just going to suddenly start painting happy devils to pay for all that? Well, yeah it felt like my last chance to make my dreams a reality. I just wanted to be able to say I did my best and tried to make it work, for myself, and to be a role model in that sense as well. So far so good.

ML: There seems be a big disparity between artists who make a living off their work and artists who don’t, and what I mean is that when you think of an artist making a living off their work you usually think either they have gallery representation, some kind of branding, or business making the same kinds of things again and again, and yet you seem to have been able to find some middle ground and do all of those things without a business, a degree, or a gallery. What’s it been like overall/how is it going? TB: I still got my foodstamp card haha, but to be honest things are better than ever. I don’t know I just keep at it every day. My belief has been that if I just keep making stuff the right people will notice. I’ve never submitted my work anywhere or asked for opportunities. I let them come to me. I just want to make the art not deal with the other stuff. If a big gallery wants to make money off me they most certainly will but for now I’ve just been doing small independent spaces, and cafe’s which bring in a little extra money but pretty much all my sales are online where I talk to every single person directly.  The most surprising thing has been how many people are interested given that I have less than 5,000 followers/friends. To me that’s a pretty good sign that as my reach grows so will opportunities and I’ve been going hard these past two years. I think I’m just going to be making bigger, better things as more people become interested. I don’t know any artists doing it this way or any way really. I’m not sure Portland is the place to make it happen, but god bless the internet! Getting a college degree makes no sense whatsoever except for becoming a teacher, and I think we know how that’s playing out these days, so I’m just grateful to be doing what I’m doing even though teaching would be pretty cool. Technically you don’t need a degree to teach you just need people who want to learn.

ML: One thing that seems to have helped you gain momentum is the price of your pieces. I don’t think I’ve ever followed an artist pricing their work so low that wasn’t just really kitschy stencil art or something. I see some of your pieces for $600 that I’d see in a gallery for $6,000 no doubt, but then I see a great deal of $50 pieces. What made you decide to price your work this way? Has it changed over time? TB: Yeah and it’s always the “artists” that comment on the prices being too low which is ironic cause usually all you ever hear from the average person is mocking how ridiculously high the price of art is generally. Basically I think other artist’s scoff because they’re projecting their insecurity regarding the real value of art, and maybe a little envious they can’t let go of their own pieces as though the abstract painting they made in a few hours should be worth thousands when they could be making a dozen similar pieces in a single day.  But um yeah I pretty much think of my stuff as like $30-$50 an hour and really like  that’s fucking amazing for a job. Yeah idk I have worked some shitty jobs, and it doesn’t make sense thinking that my work should be above what a person like myself can afford in the first place. When I first started though I still had the mysterious art value notion and was pricing things around $200 that I’d price $70 now, and didn’t sell much at first. It wasn’t until I started doing smaller pieces and gauging my time that I started selling a lot more and trying a lot of different things. It’s not like i’m making art specifically about making money but I can understand why people are so interested in this aspect. I don’t think it’s very common huh. When I first started I tried to justify it as a performance piece called “The Painter” haha. I used to title all sorts of things in my mind as a means to cope with the daunting reality of the situation “Working Construction”, 2014. Even during some of the lowest points I think it helped me maintain the peculiar sense of an artist identity I didn’t want to let go of even if I was letting go of everything else like “Burning All My Journals & Paintings″, 2015

ML: Haha what is that last one about? TB: Around the time I stopped living with my wife and moved into my own place I decided to not bring much along with me. I think the title is self-explanatory. ML: I’m wondering if you could talk about any reoccurring themes or characters in a lot of your paintings like the blob fish or spicy boys. TB: Ya know I think most everything just comes to me on a whim and if it works out or holds my interest I’ll keep playing with it. I guess blob fish and spicy boys are like representative of the comedy/tragedy masks or something. I think I’ve simplified a lot of themes in my paintings just so I can keep the flow going. I’m looking forward to spending more time and space on pieces in the future and elaborate on certain things I’ve wanted to express but didn’t know how to put into words. ML: How so? TB: Well, for example. Sometimes I will paint something I’ve seen in my mind, like, dreamed or hallucinated, but not often because a lot of the time I feel I can’t do it justice even though a lot of my stuff is very much informed by these things that I don’t exactly control. It’s like I take video stills from the internet except they’re from my mind, and the screenshot is something I only had to opportunity to view briefly, but even with a split second hallucination I will think about it for weeks and often will just paint its most basic components. Anyway I’m gearing toward eventually elaborating on the more complex ones because lately I have had some visions that have come to the forefront of my interest. Hopefully will get to them after a few more pet portrait commissions haha. ML: What do you mean by hallucinations? Is your inspiration mainly inspired by dreams or do you mean drugs as well? TB: Most things I just write down as interesting ideas to play with, but I guess I don’t want to get too much into talking about drugs. However there have some recent experiences I’ve had with substances like dmt and the things I saw during that I have been thinking about ever since. So right now I’m just trying to get to the end of commissions and then give my attention to some new projects. Have a show in March. Don’t know what I’ll do for it, but certainly no shortage of ideas.

ML: Where do you see yourself going or where would you like to go, and any other thoughts on painting/selling/art in general? TB: I want to go to the top haha. Well in most ways things are better than ever, and I’m incredibly grateful and I can certainly tolerate having things going at this pace at least another year, but would like to make more serious/invested work that I’m really proud of, get some more money and attention and access to better time/space/materials. At this point though even if I had to get a day job I feel I’m completely committed to doing this work. It’s pretty much how I gauge my self-worth for better or worse. Just hope I can find my groove within the process and better understand myself, inspire others, and I wish I had something more insightful to say, but at the moment I’m a bit preoccupied hustling and just having fun with this upcoming show. Thank yaaaa.

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Swan Song: Part One

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 1,729

Warnings: typical supernatural violence, language, angst, blood, you know the usual

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. Any and all comments on these are appreciated. I really want to hear what you guys think about this one!

Feedback is the glue that holds my writing together.

Tags at the bottom

Your plan of getting Dean to trust you again isn’t going so well. He won’t even look at you, much less be in the same room as you. The only way he’s willing to work with you right now is because you’re dealing with the devil, and he knows your magic will come in handy. It’s kind of hard to get him to trust you when he won’t even give you the time of day.

Instead, you decide to rant to Sam about what’s been going on since he’s on your side. He’s the only one right now who you can freely talk to about this. Your dad would only try and side with Dean since they were close growing up.

“I acted on impulse, Sam. I never should have done what I did,” you whisper painfully.

You and Sam sat on the hood of Baby while drinking alcohol. He had a beer while you had bottled wine. You’ve had beer before, but you like wine better.

“I know,” he nods.

“If I can’t defeat Lucifer, Dean’s going to leave me. I can feel it. He won’t even look at me.”

“It’s not your responsibility to defeat Lucifer.”

“I’m the oldest, Sam. When Dean didn’t, I looked after you. Hell, I looked after Dean sometimes. It’s why Dean and I don’t want you to say yes to Lucifer. I look at you and see the six-year-old boy who was scared to sleep with the lights off. I see the boy who could only fall asleep when I sang to him. I keep forgetting you’re an adult now. My maternal instincts started with you, and I regret not passing them onto my daughter. I have to defeat Lucifer if Dean’s going to trust me again. I don’t know what else to do. I’m losing him.”

“We’ll figure this out together. You always got me, remember?” he says and brings you into a side hug.

“Yeah, I got you,” you sigh lightly and rest your head against his chest and close your eyes.

“Hey,” Dean calls as he approaches you two.

You turn back around so that you’re facing away from him. You know he’s going to talk to Sam and only him. Dean reaches down into the cooler to retrieve a beer for himself. He leans against the passenger’s side door with his back turned to both of you.

“Hey,” Sam replies. Dean takes a long pause as he plays with the cap of his bottle. “Dean? What's going on?”

“I’m in.”

“In with…?”

“The whole ‘up with Satan’ thing. I'm on board.”

“You're gonna let me say yes?” Sam asks, swinging his legs to the side so they are hanging off the side of the car.

“No. That's the thing. It's not on me to let you do anything. You're a grown—well, overgrown—man. If this is what you want, I'll back your play.”

“That's the last thing I thought you'd ever say.”

“Might be. I'm not gonna lie to you, though. It goes against every fiber I got. I mean, the truth is... it’s always been my job to watch after you. But more than that, it's kinda who I am. You're not a kid anymore, Sam, and I can't keep treating you like one. Maybe I got to grow up a little, too. I don't know if we got a snowball's chance. But I do know that if anybody can do it, it's you.”

“Thank you.”

“If this is what you want... Is this really what you want?” he asks and looks at his brother from over his shoulder.

“I let him out. I got to put him back in.”

“Okay. That's it, then,” he shrugs and takes another swig of his beer.

If only he can use that logic and reasoning towards you. While you understand the gravity of your mistake, and how it’s affecting him, he has to take some initiative towards you. He hasn’t even tried to put himself in your shoes which is the most upsetting. It’s like he doesn’t want to try and work this out—like he’s given up on you.

It’s not like you haven’t made grave mistakes in the past. He’s forgiven those. Why is he holding onto this so strongly?

Your dad found a demon hideout because if Sam is going to defeat the devil, then he is going to need all the power he can get. No one likes this, but that means he needs to drink buckets of demon blood. Your magic isn’t going to be enough to take down Lucifer, but it may work with Sam’s power.

You just finished drying out the last demon, and you cap the gallon bottle full of his blood. It’s grosses you out to every extent, but it’s necessary. You take two jugs out to the car, and Castiel and Sam take the other four. Dean isn’t happy about this and leaves to go to your father’s side. You place the two jugs in the trunk of Baby, wipe off your hands, and head over to the duo.

“What do you got?” Dean asks, getting down to business.

“Not much. Do these look like omens to you?” he hands Dean a newspaper, and passes one to you since he knows you’re hovering. “There’s a cyclone in Florida, a temperature drop in Detroit, and wildfires in L.A.”

“Wait, what about Detroit?” you ask with a frown.

“The temp's dropped about 20 degrees, but only in a five-block radius of downtown Motown.”

“That's the one. Devil's in Detroit,” you say with certainty.

“Really? As far as foreboding goes, it's a little light in the loafers. You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. He told us himself… in 2014,” you say and make eye contact with Dean for a few seconds.

“Good enough for me,” your dad shrugs and packs up his stuff.

“I really messed up, you know,” you say to Amara.

She stands in front of you with a calm exterior. It’s been a while since you’ve dreamt of her, but you’re glad you are now. It’s weird to say, but you feel safe with her right now. No one is telling you how she’s evil and trying to take over the world. Right now, it’s just you and her and no one else.

“I know. But don’t think it’s the end for you.”

“The only person I want a kid with is Dean.”

“Good things come to those who wait. Sometimes, it’s necessary to fall in order to climb. Things happen for a reason.”

“Like Sam saying yes to your nephew?”

“That’s one of the things, yes,” she says and puts an arm around your shoulder to comfort you.

“Can he do it? Can he shove Lucifer back in his cage?”

“I don’t have the answer to that. Just know that everything is going to be okay. I may be locked away, but that doesn’t mean I can’t still make a difference.”

“What does that mean?” you ask, but she’s already fading. Your consciousness is starting to take control. “Amara?”

The drive to Detroit is long and far, so you thought you better get in a good nap before the big fight. You’re going to need all of your energy if you’re going to defeat the devil in a few hours. Since Castiel doesn’t have his powers anymore, he’s napping with you in the back seat. His head is resting on your shoulder, and your head is on his. Dean went over a bump which is why you woke up.

“Sam, I got a bad feeling about this,” Dean sighs.

You don’t make it known that you’re awake because you want to know what they talk about when they think you’re not listening. So, you keep your eyes close and wait.

“Well, you'd be nuts to have a good feeling about it.”

“You know what I mean. It’s about Detroit. He always said he'd jump your bones in Detroit. Here we are. Maybe this is him rolling out the red carpet, you know? Maybe he knows something that we don't.”

“Dean, I'm sure he knows a buttload we don't. We just got to hope he doesn't know about the rings,” Sam sighs. He turns his head to look at you before turning back to normal. “Hey, I have to ask you something.”

“What?”

“What are you really afraid of?”

“What are you talking about?”

“With Y/N. She’s been working her ass off to try and make things right, but you’re not giving it the same attention.”

“Why are we having this conversation again? Seriously, leave me alone about it.”

“I might die today. Sue me for tying up loose ends.”

“Well, I appreciate you looking out for me, but stop it.”

“I’m serious, Dean. You’re not treating her fairly.”

“What can I say? She’s not the person I thought she was. I can’t forgive her this easily. Now, I don’t want to talk about it anymore so stop asking me.”

“Okay, on another note, if this thing goes our way and I triple Lindy into that box… y-you know I'm not coming back.”

“Yeah, I'm aware.”

“So, you got to promise me something.”

“Okay. Yeah. Anything.”

“You got to promise not to try to bring me back,” he says slowly, and the whole car is just silent.

“What? No, I didn't sign up for that. Your Hell is gonna make my tour look like Graceland. You want me just to sit by and do nothing?” he exclaims but lowers his voice when he remembers that you and Castiel are sleeping… well, Castiel is.

“Once the Cage is shut, you can't go poking at it, Dean. It's too risky.”

“As if I'm just gonna let you rot in there,” he scoffs.

“Yeah, you are. You don't have a choice.”

“You can't ask me to do this.”

“I'm sorry, Dean. You have to.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?”

“Make it work with Y/N or you find someone who’s dumb enough to take you in. You have barbecues and go to football games. You go live some normal, apple-pie life, Dean. Promise me,” he urges.

Dean doesn’t answer because he’s too emotional to even think. The thought of Dean being with another woman just breaks your heart. You have to defeat Lucifer so that you can restore your relationship.

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[mynameislangdon-blog]

If You’re Still Breathing

This story involves Michael, Mutt, Jeff, a main original character and some minor original background people. It attempts to fill in some of what happened between the Apocalypse and Michael’s arrival at Outpost 3. I’m a fan of being inspired by music, so each chapter (and IYSB) are named based on what I was listening to when I wrote it. There is also smut, but it’s pretty soft, I think. This is not complete, needing at least 2 more unwritten chapters to resolve the story.

Characters: Michael Langdon, Mutt Nutter, Jeff Pfister, mention of Ms. Mead. Original main character because I don’t like first-person. Tag requests: @thelangdoncooperative , @ccodyfern

Word count: 5,073

Chapters 1-4 Warnings: some sexual content, blood, gore, death. Chapter 1: “You’re Gonna Go Far, Kid”  Outpost 2 was easily the largest, most technologically advanced of the bunch. The inhabitants wanted for nothing. Expanded from the historic Greenbrier Bunker in White Sulphur Springs, Outpost 2 had private rooms for 25, and dorm rooms for another 50. There were two 250,000-gallon water tanks, and 2 50,000-gallon diesel fuel tanks. All ventilation had radioactive particle filters and clean air circulators, plus there was water filtration, bunker to surface vault doors that needed 50 pounds of pressure just to unlock, and even recording and broadcasting equipment. The upgrades from the 60’s included hydroponic agriculture & livestock annexes, solar power, hydroelectric power, an armory, and for some reason a bowling alley. You name it and they had it. Unfortunately, it had a little too much of some things. And by things, I mean people. And by people, I mean two individuals in particular. Mutt Nutter and Jeff Pfister. They were the outpost designers, and they never let any of the inhabitants forget that they were alive because of them. “You want me to what?! Check the irrigation drains under the northwest crops? I don’t need to do anything; those fucking freeloaders can do it. I already saved humanity once!” They weren’t any better with each other. “You see this coffee, asshole? Tanzanian Golden Black Sky Desert Roast! If it wasn’t for me, you’d be eating nutrient cubes back in California!” “You’re the one who fucked up and put us here after I SPECIFICALLY said to put us in the Bahamas! I should be balls deep in Jennifer Lawrence right now, but instead we’re trapped with these fucking gremlins!” And that was just banter over breakfast. The others chalked it up to the price for surviving in splendor, and left them to their drugs and robots. The Outpost was light on entertainment personalities, but heavy on scientists, politicians and inventors. Many of the people who were meant to be there hadn’t made it, but certain people, mostly Cooperative members, had been given a heads up, and were already underground when the bombs hit. Grace had been one of the first people to arrive, but she wasn’t in the Cooperative or a billionaire. She was just a special education therapist who’d moved to White Sulphur Springs from California 3 years ago.   *********

There at the base of the stairs, Grace smiled. “I thought it had to be you. You sent me the card with the Cooperative ID, didn’t you?” “I did. I wish I could have collected you myself.” “But why?” “I needed you. There wasn’t time then, but there is now.” Grace watched his eyes. The bright blue she’d grown so accustomed to now looked like moonlight on an ocean. “What’s happened to you? Are you okay? Where’s Ms. Mead? Did she… oh no. She didn’t make it did she?” “No.” He stared straight ahead, pretending he didn’t feel; a move she’d seen before when he was trying to not cry. A tear slipped out and she watched it roll down his newly chiseled features. She reached out her hand to wipe it away then stopped. He had never liked surprise touching.  In a soft voice she said, “I’m sorry, I forgot to ask first. I won’t touch you without your permission again, I promise.” But he wasn’t the same boy next door she remembered that was full of anger, swinging from sweet to vicious with no warning. Surprisingly, he stepped closer and enveloped her in his arms. Suddenly buried in his cloak, she relished the embrace. It felt good to be held, and it felt good to know that Michael had become more comfortable with touching. There, in the folds of his cape, she breathed him in, inhaling the scent of burnt wood mixed with something metallic. Electric. Grace realized he smelled like a battery tasted. She had to fight the urge to lick him to see if her tongue tingled. Instead, she laid her cheek on his chest and sank into the hug. Then her former boy next door leaned in and whispered, “But you want to touch me, don’t you?” His lips brushed against her ear and she reeled, feeling like she’d just been sucker punched in the libido. She didn’t know what had come over her, but she could barely restrain herself from grabbing at him, pushing him to the floor, wrapping herself around him and eating him alive. Her hands tightened on him for a moment, threatening to tear his skin right through his clothes. Then she forcefully pushed him away, succeeding only in pushing herself back against the stairs.   What was happening here? Grace thought she might faint from her sudden need for him, but he simply stood and observed her. It was clear that he was relishing the sight of her feeling so many things at once, her former role of protector wrestling with her baser instincts. She was literally clinging to the banister for support when he ran the tip of his tongue over the edge of his upper lip. With the cool nonchalance of tossing a valet the car keys, he cocked an eyebrow and said, “You have my permission”, then turned and walked into the conference room.

Shocked, she ran scurrying down the hall like a mouse chased by a cat. She could almost hear Michael’s laughter following her. Once she had reached her room and locked the door behind her, she collapsed on the bed and whispered to herself, “What the fucking fuck was that?!!” She replayed the reunion in her mind. Instead of finding answers, she found herself reliving the moment his lips touched her ear, over and over again. 

Without even realizing it, she had pulled up her dress and begun touching herself. Her body ached for more, and Grace obliged, putting one, then two fingers inside herself, thrusting and rubbing, involuntarily moaning, “Oh yes, please, please, more!” Her hips squirmed, and the memory of Michael sent a spasm through her, pushing her over the edge into climax. Unaware of anything existing but Michael’s touch, she cried out with pleasure and release. “Oh! Oh fuck! Oh my god! yes! Yes! OH FUCK YES!!!!” She brought herself to orgasm over and over again until she lay on her bed drained, unable to move, aftershocks of pleasure still rolling through her in waves as she fell asleep on her bed, half undressed and limp like a doll.

******

The meeting with Mutt and Jeff was predictable. Them being overly solicitous to Michael with just enough questioning and doubt to show they still thought they knew better. This had been coming for a while.

“So, what’s going on out there, dude?”

“Most people are dead, the ones that aren’t are mutating and dying. Outpost One has been overrun and destroyed.”

“What?! No way, man. New York had a great defense system. Almost as good as this one!”

“Apparently not good enough.”

“Shit. So, what do we need to do to keep it from happening here?”

“There’s nothing you can do except… are you prepared to fight?”

Jeff started making Pew! Pew! Blam! noises and pulled a gun out of his waistband. “Oh, we’re ready. POW!”

Michael looked at Mutt. “I need to report back to the rest of the Cooperative of course. Why don’t you show me around so I can get an idea of where we stand supply-wise?”

Clearly uncomfortable, he said, “Oh, sure. But, uh maybe we should stay here, make sure everything’s ready for your dinner.”

Jeff chimed in, “We’re doing a special dinner to celebrate your arrival, man. Like, top of the line.”

Michael observed them both, having expected nothing less than avoidance. “M-mm, I see. Of course. Shall I just, wander about on my own then? See what I can find?”

Jeff gave a panicked, “No!” then added, “What I mean is, you wouldn’t want to miss anything important. You should totally have a guide. You want your special friend to take you around?” He exchanged a knowing look with Mutt.

Michael’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“You know, the nobody who you put in here with us, the one with no money or special talents who had a priority entry clearance? Come on, dude. We’re not stupid. Obviously, she’s somebody special to you. I didn’t even know the Son of Satan could have personal attachments. Beyond the Battlea…. Ms. Mead, I mean. So, what’s the deal, you two getting it on? Did you save her to be like, your post-apocalyptic sex slave, or what?” Michael’s eyes grew black, and the lights flickered. “That’s not your concern.”

Mutt looked around nervously. “Okay, we were just curious. So, you don’t want her to show you around? We can find…”

“It will be fine.”

“Yeah, okay. We’ve got some... stuff to take care of.” Before Michael could even leave the room, the boys made a beeline for the drink cabinet, and opened it to reveal a giant crystal skull half full of cocaine, several syringes, and the bar sink full of robotic arms clutching bottles of alcohol. As the door shut behind him, Michael heard a gunshot and a round of hysterical giggling. He put his hand over his face and sighed.

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

Chapter 2: "The Distance”

The intercom in Grace’s room buzzed, startling her from her unplanned nap. Once she got her bearings, she went over to the speaker. “This is Grace, what is it?”

“Got a job for you, sweetheart.” Ugh, it was Jeff. Grace rolled her eyes at the intercom and prayed it wouldn’t be something humiliating.“What kind of job?”

“Langdon wants a tour of the bunker.”

The butterflies started in her stomach, and lower down her parts clenched in an agonizing ache. “Can’t Josie or Henry do that? I’m kind of busy right now.”

Mutt chimed in, “Nope. It’s gotta be you babe. Try not to have too much fun. We need him back for the big dinner at 6.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. He just left the conference room so get your ass up here pronto.” Grace hurriedly changed out of the rest of her clothes and into jeans, a t-shirt, and work boots. A full tour would include the livestock pens, and she didn’t want to look seductive anyway. She grabbed a hair tie on her way out the door and pulled her hair into a ponytail as she hurried down the hall. She rehearsed in her head giving a firm “no” if he tried touching or whispering to her again. But she also couldn’t help imagining what could happen if she didn’t.

As she rounded the corner, she saw Michael once again standing at the bottom of the steps, writing something in a small black notebook. Not knowing what to expect, nervous with anticipation, she walked up to him and tried a casual, “Hi.” Her voice came out hoarse and she began to cough. She thought back to all the screaming she’d been doing recently and grew warm with the thought. She hoped she wasn’t blushing.  

“Sorry about that. Air gets pretty dry in here.”

Michael tucked the notebook into his jacket, then looked at her coolly. “Please lead on. We have a lot to see.”

“Okay, well you’ve seen the decontamination entrance and the overview/conference room, so let’s go down to the big stuff at the back.” As they walked down the corridor, Grace kept talking. She told herself it was because he would want to know as much as possible but truthfully, she was just trying to avoid thinking about what happened earlier. Michael either didn’t notice or chose to ignore her, as his only contribution to her running dialogue was the occasional, “Interesting.”

She pushed open a set of glass double doors. “This is the ER.” They walked past hospital beds and Michael peered into one of the operating rooms. There was everything a regular operating room would have: bone saws, ventilators, shock paddles, EKG machine, IV drips, and so on. “You’re quite prepared.”

“Mostly. And here’s the pharmacy. We have everything one needs for typical stuff, we even have a setup for chemo. But they went heavy on the painkillers and didn’t stock a lot of long-term meds, which I think was a mistake.”

They took a walk through the pharmacy rows, and as Grace talked, Michael would occasionally pick up a bottle or package. “If you have questions about any of these, we’ve got a basic guide and I still remember a lot from school so you can always ask.”

“These aren’t locked up? Anyone can access them?”

They’re unlocked now because I’m showing it to you. There’s a code on the room and on the shelves, plus the cameras are simply everywhere.” She pointed up and waved to the camera. “Josh is probably on camera duty tonight. Hi Josh!”

Michael glared at the camera, and in the observation room, Josh grabbed his heart and collapsed to the floor.

They left the medical area and walked down to the power room. Keying in another code, Grace opened the heavy door and they were greeted with a wall of noise. “They’re pretty loud. Sorry.” She flipped a few switches and the actual size of the room became apparent. “These are the diesel generators and tanks. We actually don’t use them much since gas is a finite resource, but the sky isn’t very bright some days thanks to the fallout, so… yeah. See these two tanks with the staircases attached? That’s all of our fuel.”

“And how full are they now?”

“What?”

He leaned in closer. “How full are they now?!”

“One hasn’t been touched at all, and the other has...” She walked over to the tanks. “This one’s at 89%.”

“And where’s your water source?”

“Oh, most of that is filtered and recycled. This was a great place to build a bunker because there’s also a naturally occurring deep spring underneath. The radiation levels for that are still holding, but we predict they’ll eventually succumb to runoff from the surface. The good news is even contaminated water can run a hydroelectric generator in a pinch.”

“You know a lot about this. Special interest?” Grace raised an eyebrow and smirked, “You mean survival? Yeah, I’m pretty interested in that. It’s in the best interest of the group that we all know as much as possible. We’ve got experts in certain areas, like the two chuckleheads and their robotics…”

“You mean Nutter and Pfister?”

“Oh, no offense, I know you three work pretty closely.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well… you saw them alone in the conference room, and they talk all the time about how they’re very influential with the Cooperative leader. That’s you, right? The leader? What’s the deal with The Cooperative? What’s the common goal?”

Michael hesitated, trying to avoid the topic

“Look, if you can’t talk about it, I understand, but how did that happen? Leading the Cooperative is a long way from lessons in my basement. I’m glad for you, I always knew you were too strong willed to let anything hold you back but…”

Michael rushed in and closed the gap between them pinning her against the tank. “You have no idea.” Then he kissed her, roughly. His lips mashed up against hers and she never even had a choice. She opened her mouth to him, nipping at his bottom lip, hungry and uncontrolled. His tongue slipped inside her mouth and they fought, her need matched by his hunger. Her hands ran through his long golden curls, grasping and tugging, trying to bring him closer. The kiss broke, and she sighed as he bent down to kiss her neck, licking and biting his way from her collarbone to her ear and back again. His hands roamed over her body, her skin burned hot wherever he touched her. It was too much for Grace, and she had to cry out, “Stop!, I can’t! I... Please, it’s too much!” Tears leaked from her eyes, not because she was in pain, but because she’d never wanted something so much in her life and for some reason, she couldn’t just let it happen.

Michael looked at her, glassy eyed and drunk on her need. He watched her hands opening and closing, grasping at the air instead of him. She wanted this. She needed this. This was rich, thick desire that he could taste and hear and smell and feel. The tension between them made the air shimmer with heat. Like magnets, they could only get so close to each other before they touched out of sheer force. He experimented, raising his hand to her waist and bringing it closer and closer until he felt the pull, breaking free only to do it again. She held her breath, afraid of what she might do if he touched her again.

A door alarm blared at the end of the hall, breaking the spell. Michael clenched his fist, ready to set ablaze the person who interrupted them, but remembered where he was and restrained himself to avoid an incident. Surprisingly, it was Grace who composed herself first and suggested, “Shall we move on?”

They walked through the kitchen, avoiding the hot pans and sharp knives, chopping and slicing, sizzling and flashing. The kitchen crew couldn’t help but stare as Michael strolled through with his blonde shoulder-length hair and elegant black clothes, nodding approvingly at one thing or another. He dipped his finger into the creamy mushroom soup and tasted it, saying simply, “Not bad”, giving a rare glimpse of his full-wattage smile. With that, he could have stabbed every member of the crew with their own knives and they would have thanked him for the privilege of dying by his hand. Grace was impressed. He had come a very long way.

She chimed in to say, “Almost everything you’ll have tonight was grown right here. The animals aren’t ready for breeding, but when they are, we’ll have fresh meat as well.”

“What kinds of animals do you have now?”

“Oh, you know, chickens, a cow and a steer, a pair of pigs… It’s like Noah’s Ark down there. But not all the animals are for eating. Come on, I’ll show you.” They walked through the green mist of the hydroponic vegetables and herbs, past the fruit trees in pots, past the composting, and entered the husbandry through an honest to god split-rail fence.

The animals came crowding around and at first Grace thought it was for her, but then she realized that they had all gone to Michael instead. And the oddest part was that they weren’t crowding him, they all just… sat there, as if in a trance. “Like they’re asking to be spared” ran through her mind. What a strange idea.

“You’ve got a way with animals.”

He looked a little uncomfortable. “Not really, I think they’re just interested in me because I’m new.”

“That must be it.” Grace knew better, but if Michael didn’t want to talk about this particular weirdness, that was okay. “But you haven’t seen the best part.”

“Am I going to have to walk through more mud?” His fancy Louboutin boots were looking quite muddy.

“Mud, no. Dirt, probably.”

Michael seemed to stop and consider his options. He sighed, “Fine.”

She led him around the side of the enclosure and whistled. Two beautiful black horses came trotting up. “Aren’t they amazing? Do you want to feed them?”

“Why?”

“Why? Because it will make them happy.” Michael seemed a little confused by the idea of making an animal happy, but took the shiny red apples that Grace gave him and held one in each hand for the two beauties. They gently nuzzled his hands and then methodically chomped away on them until there was nothing left. “Huh.”

“Good babies”, cooed Grace. And to Michael, “You see? That wasn’t so bad. Oh!” She suddenly beamed. “I forgot, check this out!” She led Michael into the enclosure and waved her hands dramatically. “Ta-da!” There stood a black carriage, like the ones you’d see in old movies. His eyebrows raised in quiet approval. Wooden wheels, curtains on the windows. He peeked inside. Leather seats, too. “What’s this for?”

“Well, Henry’s logic was that if the day came where we needed to venture out for supplies, that having a carriage would make much more sense than a car because we wouldn’t need to carry gas for it or rely on finding any later. If the horses can eat what we eat…” She was interrupted by an announcement blaring from the speaker in the ceiling. It was fucking Jeff again.

“Ladies and gentlemen! The time is now 5:00 and in an hour we will be having a celebratory feast in honor of Mr. Langdon. Please make sure you are tastefully attired and on time! Over and out!”

Grace and Michael shared a look.

“I guess the tour’s over.”

“We’ll finish it later.”

**********

Chapter 3: “Belief In God Is So Adorable”

The dinner was unnecessary, but Michael had learned that these kinds of things were easier to get through than call off. And besides, it would give him a chance to try an experiment. He looked around the table at the scientists, intellectuals and politicians and military men. He stood and raised his glass in a toast. “Fellow Cooperative members, as you may have heard, Outpost One is gone.” People nodded their heads and tried to look broken up about it. “But let us not ignore the fact that we are still here.” More thoughtful nodding. “I would like to raise my glass to Outpost two, and your efficient and sustainable colony.” Mutt and Jeff let out a “Yeah! Damn right!” and stood up to chest bump each other. Then they stepped away from the table to do a few lines and argue about which bottle of wine to open. Everyone else applauded politely, raised their glasses in return and drank. Individual bowls of soup were being placed before each person. “What do we have here?” asked Michael. The person serving said, “Mushroom soup, sir. Made from mushrooms grown right here. And fresh cream, too.” “Well, it looks delicious.” He winked at the server, who from that moment on would have gladly cut his own eyes out with rusty razor wire then sautéed them with rosemary and eaten them if Michael had asked him to. Michael dipped his spoon into the bowl and brought it to his lips then stopped, putting his spoon down and simply sitting while he watched the guests eat every last spoonful while they talked about some garden pests or fortifying a support girder or something else equally pointless. Michael frowned. It hadn’t worked. He wondered if it was a dosage problem or if it was the rate the pills dissolved in hot soup. But then, Henry started to drift. He looked so tired. Then Josie, then Doris too. They could barely hold their heads up. The three senators soon followed suit, then the General. The other diners were slumping in their seats and Michael began to smile. “Good to know”, he whispered to himself. Mutt and Jeff continued to argue in the corner, oblivious to anyone else’s condition. Michael sighed internally. No one appreciated subtlety anymore. Once everyone had succumbed and was face down in their soup or puddled on the floor, Michael stood up. “Gentlemen, since our companions seem to resting, I wonder if you could help me with something.” “Yeah, sure. Whoa, what happened? Are they going to be okay?” “Oh, yes. They’ll be fine. Just… napping. I still need a tour of the armory and I wanted you two to take me since I know it’s your area of…” Michael hesitated, barely able to say the word, “…expertise.” “What? Oh dude! Absolutely! Let’s go!”Jeff whooped and hollered the whole way there, Mutt egging him on. They unlocked the shooting range and took Michael to the armory. “We’ve got everything you need, man.” “I don’t need anything, I just need to know what you have.” “Oh. Well, you mind if we shoot off a few rounds first?” Michael waved his hand at them, “Of course.” He sat back in a green plastic chair, putting his feet up on the rail. He knew what was coming. “So, uh, let’s just do a few lines first, ok?” They opened up yet another unimaginative cocaine stash inside a target dummy then laid out a pile and bulldozed their faces through it. As they brought their heads up, they realized something was off. Weird. “Dude, you feel that?” “Like, that buzzing? What the fuck is that? OW!” Blood began to run out of Jeff’s nose. He turned to look at Mutt, who had sunk to the floor holding his head in his hands. He turned to Michael and yelled, “What is happening?!” Michael gave the most sardonic of smiles and said, “Oh, it’s quite simple really. My father has revoked your privileges.” Jeff’s eyes bugged in disbelief. He screamed hysterically, “What do you mean fucking revoked? We paid our dues man! We sold our souls!” Behind him Mutt began to rhythmically beat his head on the floor. “Yes, you did. But you haven’t exactly upheld your end of things, have you? Did you think I wouldn’t know?” “Auuugh! Fuck!” The nosebleed was hemorrhaging, leaving Jeff soaked in his own blood, woozy and thick-headed. “Wouldn’t know what?!?!! We gave you the apocalypse, dude!” Michael stood up, clasping his hands behind his back and cocking his head to one side. Speaking in a voice that was all gravel and bitterness he said, “You lied to me. You tried to manipulate me.” Jeff fell to the floor next to Mutt, trying to stand but slipping in the blood that was spreading around them. Michael continued, “You programmed Ms. Mead to say what you wanted to say. You used her. You took away her memories and gave her ones that you liked better. You changed her. And in doing so you worked against me.” He slowly walked his way over to the miserable pair. “You.” He looked at Mutt, who had slammed his head into the floor so many times that his eyes had rolled back into his head and pieces of his brain were flapping idly at the edges of his skull. He stepped closer, hand clenched. “Used.” He watched Jeff try to hold his head up, blood now flowing from his ears, eyes, and skin. He stepped closer, clenching the other hand. “Me!” He threw his hands open and they held roaring fire, flames licking and jumping in anticipation. “And my...” His face went ghostly white, black holes where his features should be. His voice boomed so powerful and angry it could have toppled mountains. “…MS. MEAD!!!” The flames shot to the ceiling and curved back down, igniting Mutt and Jeff. They wailed and screamed, slowly and painfully burning to a blackened crisp. Michael snapped his hands shut and stood stone faced, watching the ashes swirl across the floor. He casually brushed a stray lock of hair off his face and straightened his jacket. One last loose end to tie up. ******** Beginning of Chapter 4: “I Am a Rock”

Grace thought back to when she first met Michael. When a boy of 16 comes knocking at your door and he isn’t selling something for school, one gets nervous. And here was this boy, all ripped black jeans and combat boots, unsure of how to say hello to a stranger. He stood there on her doorstep, just looking at her, as if she was supposed to just know what he needed. “Where’s your mo…Ms. Mead?” she asked, looking around. The tall boy with icy eyes and curls like an angel looked around too. “I don’t know, I mean she was here, but now she’s not and the car’s not here…” The boy was clearly not comfortable being alone, and seemed anxious. “Is there someone I should call?” He looked sheepish and said, “Can I just wait here?” “Sure. We can do that. Let’s wait outside so we can see her car when she gets back.” And she thought to herself, “And so Ms. Mead doesn’t skin me alive for having her boy in my house unsupervised.” “Okay. Thank you. May I have some water?” Grace brought out some water for the boy and tapped him on the shoulder. He flinched, swatting at her hand. She took a step back then sat down on the steps at a respectful distance, putting the glass of water in the space between them. “Sorry, I’ll ask permission next time, okay?” Michael stayed silent, looking doubtful. “I will ask permission before I touch you. I promise.” They sat awkwardly until he finished the water. He handed it to her saying, “Here’s your glass. I’m finished.” “Thank you… I don’t know your name. What should I call you?” “Michael. Michael Langdon.” “How old are you Michael?” “16.” “And where do you go to school?” “I don’t like these questions.” Dammit, she had pushed too hard again. In her head, she admonished herself. “Listening skills, Grace! Come on!” “Oh, I’m sorry. Do you not want to talk? Just wait?” “Just wait.” Grace was trained in working with special needs kids, and this young man Michael, with his specific ways and rigid preferences, acting a little younger than his age would suggest, seemed to have some delays. She wondered if there was some kind of developmental disability there. She desperately wanted to ask more, but there was no point pushing him. They sat and watched the cars pass and listened to the summer insects buzzing.   Michael broke the silence. “Why are you always playing music and hitting things?” “What? Oh, I’m practicing. Practicing martial arts.” “You listen to music for that?” “Well, I do. It helps keep me motivated. It’s not too loud is it? I don’t want to bother anyone.” “No, it’s not loud. Well, Ms. Mead doesn’t like it but I think she just doesn’t like that kind of music.” “Well, it’s not for everybody. I’ll try to keep it quieter so she doesn’t have to listen.” “You practice fighting? Can you teach me fighting?” Grace had an inspirational idea, but it would require some coordinated effort and planning. “That… would be up to Ms. Mead. If she says it’s okay, then I can certainly try.” “She’ll say okay.” And just like that, her car came pulling into the driveway.Michael’s face lit up, and he ran off, calling out over his shoulder, “Bye! I’ll see you tomorrow!” “Tomorrow?” Grace thought, “Oh, boy.”

[dumbassbestiary]

That Time Camille Met Glenn - Drabble (NSFW)

{The fic i wrote for @nosferatuinblue as crack that then became Glennmille. Go figure.}

It was the mid-nineties: Bill Clinton was President (possibly, I don’t know the exact dates), Vanilla Ice was inexplicably a musical star, and cartoons had never been edgier.

As Camille stepped out of the Trans Am, and threw away the phone book she’d been sitting on to properly operate it, the night smelled of blood…and opportunity.

She’d picked up the car in New Jersey after its owner had wolf-whistled at her. Said owner - a hard-as-nails ex-con who’d done fifteen at Riker’s for armed robbery - now sat in several trash cans behind a Shoney’s. Camille had picked the fragments of skull and brain that’d been left on the wheel of his car after she’d smashed his head against it fourteen and a half times, and chewed them during the drive like gum.

Now, she was in the great state of New York: one of the many stops in her wet (read: bloody), hot (read: deathly cold), American Summer (read: winter). During this little excursion across the states, she’d killed no less than forty people, all of which would be attributed to other, less-competent murderers across the country. She’d kill many more before the trip was up, but that’s not the story we’re telling today.

It’s outside of a filthy-looking dive bar called Randy’s that we join our sanguinarian heroine (Anti-Heroine? Villain?) as she prepared for a night of miscellaneous debauchery.

She trudged across the blacktop, wearing painted-on jeans and a leather jacket that made her look like a tiny biker. She fiddled with a curly lock of her kinky, purple hair and grinned - at a place like this, all bets were off, and that’s the only occasion where Little Miss Domino felt like she could truly have a good time.

The guy at the door was about to make a comment - maybe about her skin, or her gaping facial triangle where her nose should have been, or her pointy buck teeth. The exact nature will never be known, because when Camille’s hand darted preemptively for his groin and squeezed his nuts into butter, the sound he made could only be heard by dogs, and all nearby dogs were reticent to deliver the exact nature of his pained exclamation.

She passed through the door without a care as the beefy doorman crumbled next to her.

When she saw the inside of the bar - which looked kind of like if you took all the furniture out of a doll house and arranged it around the dirtiest gutter, full of dead rats and used condoms,  that you’ve ever had the misfortune to see in your life - she wanted to chug ten gallons of Purell with a chaser of a bathtub full of bleach. But, she managed to suppress the urge, when something else distracted her.

There was a man at the bar - not exceptionally tall, but still somehow imposing. His pale, angular face betrayed a preternatural sense of malice that Camille felt she could really identify with - and his hair might have been the only set of hair in the bar frizzier than her’s.

Like a nest of ginger clown pubes, Camille thought.

He swilled his drink, uninterested. There was something else on the stranger’s mind - but what?

She’d just have to find out.

Camille sauntered over to the bar, and floated up onto the seat.

The stranger didn’t turn to regard her. He just looked at the two ice cubes floating in his drink.

“Hey,” the bartender, who looked like an angry Mario, said on approach. “No kids in my bar.”

Camille’s teeth clenched, and her eyes took on a strange, reflective quality.

The bartender felt mesmerised, and oddly…compliant.

“Take off your belt,” she said, her voice lisping but not undermining the gravity of her tone. “And hang yourself in the bathroom.”

The bartender nodded.

“Yes, ma'am.”

He walked off to the bathroom, loosening his belt.

The redhead stranger perked up, like someone had just told him his VD test came back negative, and turned to Camille. She noticed he was wearing the ugliest Hawaiian shirt she’d ever seen: palm trees, guns, and corgis.

“Nice work,” he said, his voice deep and cruel. “Normally, I need to unholster something to be that persuasive.”

Camille smiled.

“It’s a gift,” she said.

“You got a name?”

“Camille. You?”

“Rhodes. I’d get you a drink, but you just sent the bartender to go all Hari-Kari in the stalls.”

Camille giggled.

“I don’t like anything on tap here, anyway.”

Glenn put his drink down on the bar, and leaned against his hand.

“I’m guessing you’ve heard of me,” he said.

“Huh?”

“It’s why you approached me, right? You’ve heard frightened whispers about the great Glenn Rhodes, and you wanted to come try my services.”

She cocked her head, perplexed.

“Are you a gigolo or something?”

Glenn sneered.

“I’m the guy you pay when you want someone dead. Isn’t that why you’re here?”

The pint-sized vampire practically snorted in amusement.

“If I want someone dead, they end up dead. I don’t need to pay Ronald McDonald to do it for me.”

The look in Glenn’s eye after that told her she’d touched a nerve. Maybe a mean name he’d been called back in high school. There was a moment of excitement where she thought he might try something, but instead, he just sighed softly, composed himself, and put on the most perfect example of a shit-eating grin.

“Say, anyone ever tell you that you sound a little like Sylvester the Cat?” he asked.

Camille felt the muscles in her face tense.

“What?” she said, giving him a chance to walk it back.

“From Looney Tunes. Try to say Suffering Succotash, you’ll see what I mean.”

Not wanting to dignify his idiotic taunting with a response, she leaned forwards, and moved the edge of his green bomber jacket to the side, so she could see the large hunting knife holstered at his hip.

“You know what they say about men with big knives,” she said.

Rhodes grabbed her by the wrist, irritated.

“They make big stab wounds,” he said.

Camille - not one to ever let herself be bested - grabbed his arm with almost bone-crushing force.

Rhodes winced and resisted the powerful urge to let out a scream.

“Yeah,” Camille said, smiling. “But they usually don’t need them.”

She let him go, and he brought his aching wrist back, rubbing it. His pride was hurting worse.

“That’s quite a grip you’ve got there, short stack,” he said. “I’d hate to be your boyfriend.”

Camille’s eyebrows arched into a “V.”

“Oh yeah?” she said.

***

The bar was evacuated by police within the hour, when someone stumbled into the bathroom, found the hanging bartender, and spilled what they intended to put in the toilet down the side of their left leg.

By that time, though, Camille and Glenn were gone - they were having nasty car sex in the back of the Trans Am like a pair of dumb, horny teens with a respectable collective body count.

She was on top. She was always on top.

“Jesus Christ,” Glenn said, between heavy breaths. “Why are you so cold? I feel like I’m fucking a corpse.”

“How do you know what that feels like?” Camille asked. “And you could have at least taken your gun belt off, you fucking jerk.”

Glenn didn’t answer, but the insults did make them both, for some reason, feel a little more aroused.

They both went at it like wolf-rabbits for a strong three minutes before an explosive conclusion. Camille’s Orlock-esque cum face would haunt his memories until Jenny Walker shot him through the head two years later in the ruins of the Dubois mansion, after an exciting but somewhat confusing fight scene.

Afterwards, they put their clothes back on, and sat in the back of a dead man’s stolen car - feeling, as all of their other sexual partners had before, deeply regretful.

Neither of them asked whether it was good for the other. They weren’t the kind of people who cared.

“Well,” Glenn said. “That’s one for the memoirs I’ll never write. If I did, though, they’d legally have to publish them under horror.”

“Oh, please,” Camille said. “Don’t flatter yourself. I had sex with Pope Pius X. Don’t let the name fool you, he was the freakiest motherfucker I’ve ever seen. He tried stuff I couldn’t describe.”

Glenn shuddered at the mental image.

“I better get off…” Glenn said, climbing out of the back seats of the Trans Am.

“I thought you just did,” Camille said, thinking it was very clever and funny.

“There’s some people I need to kill,” he finished.

“Yeah,” Camille said. “Me too.”

Note: if Camille was able to read this narration, she’d also have replied “I thought you just did” to “he finished” as well. She would have thought that was very clever and funny too.

That was the first and last time they’d ever met - nobody could make a definitive comment on the nature of their relationship. Were they friends? No. Lovers? I mean, could you really call that back seat abomination love? Did they even like each other? Who knows?

The thing that could indeed be said about their relationship, though, is that they probably deserved each other.

[kaunis-sielu]

The Mailbox

You were used to the motorcycles that rolled past your little house. It was the price you paid for living down the street from the second-in-command of the Howlies. But it kept you safe, safer than one might think and from what you’d seen of the man he’d been pretty nice to look at too.

It had been late fall when you’d bought the house and now that it was solidly spring you were finally able to get outside and plant some flowers. You’ve got a bandanna tied around your head, the ends on the top of your head and your hair in a messy ponytail. It’s nice enough for some lulu Capri pants and a T-shirt. You’re going to be gardening after all, you need to be able to move, you lug the bag of soil out of the garage and then bring out the flowers you bought last weekend. Mostly colorful daisies, a few marigolds and some white jasmine. You’d drawn out how you wanted them in the box so now it was just weeding, digging and planting.

The weeding takes around an hour. It’s annoying but also strangely satisfying to see the five gallon bucket full of weeds. You head inside for some lemonade and when you head back out you plop down on the grass. Face tilted up toward the sun as you lean back on your hands, your knees are bent with your feet planted on the ground, your phone playing the latest And That’s Why We Drink podcast episode. You hear a motorcycle roaring up the street toward you, it slows slightly as it takes the curve before your house, they never go too fast which is nice. You’d hate for someone to get hurt. The motorcycle passes by your house then the driver shouts, “Fuck!” His yell is followed by a crash and your eyes fly open.

Looking toward the street you’re astonished to see a bike now in your front yard. One rider still straddling the monster trying to get your mailbox out from underneath it.

“Holy shit are you okay?” You cry jumping up and hurrying toward him. He revs the engine causing you to squeak in surprise as he tries again to get the mailbox out from under the bike. “Hey!” You yell over the noise of the engine finally getting his attention.

Holy shit. He’s the hottest man you’ve ever seen. You knew he was good looking from the times he’s cruised by but you weren’t prepared for this.

“Are you okay?” You repeat and he nods but you can see the blood sliding down his face.

“I’m fine. I’m more worried about your mailbox and my bike.”

“You’re bleeding.” You point out and he touches the spot on his head. “Stay here I’ll go get my first aid kit.”

“I’m fine Darlin. Thanks though.”

“You’re bleeding. I know you’ve probably got like a reputation to uphold or something but you kinda owe me. You’ve taken out my mailbox and put a really nice rut into my front yard.” You point out and he looks a bit embarrassed. “Stay here. Or I will come down to your place and administer first aid there.”

“Yes ma’am.” He says with a small chuckle. You head inside not sure if you’re going to have to follow through on your threat or not.

Once you get back outside you’re pleased to see he’s still in your yard. He’s managed to get the mailbox and it’s post out from under his bike. His bike is now parked in front of your house and he’s frowning at the mark he’s made through your yard.

“Alright, let me see that cut.” You tell him and he turns to face you. Slipping on the gloves you pull out some gauze and an alcohol wipe. “Sorry if this stings-“ you trail off hoping you’ll get his name.

“Bucky.” He smiles as you tend to the cut on his forehead. You introduce yourself and he repeats your name softly. “How long have you lived here?” He asks as you press the gauze to the cut.

“Six months or so. I’m a teacher at Birchwood Elementary.” He’s not going to need stitches but head wounds bleed forever. “What happened?”

“What?”

“When you hit my mailbox.”

“Oh, cat ran across the road.” He seems distracted, and you risk a glance into those bright blue eyes. His pupils don’t seem to be dilated.

“Orange tabby?” You ask focusing back on the cut on his head.

“Yea. Yours?”

“No, I’m more of a dog person. It’s Mr. Nelson’s, blue house three down. You didn’t hit it did you?”

“No Darlin’ just your mailbox.”

“I’m fine with sacrificing my mailbox for Mr. Nelson’s cat.” You give him a smile, “Can you tell me what day it is?” He can. He also knows how old he is, his address and what month it is so you’re satisfied that he doesn’t have a concussion.

“If you wanted to get to know me Doll all you had to do was ask.” He flirts and you laugh.

You remove the gauze after a few more minutes, he’s not bleeding anymore.

“You’re good to go Bucky. Thanks for humoring me.”

“You were a great nurse, next time I cut myself I’m coming over.”

“You’re welcome to stop by anytime.” You offer, you like him. He’s sweet, charming and funny, and you could use more friends outside of school.

“I’ll keep that in mind. I’ll be back tomorrow to fix that mailbox.”

“Don’t worry about it. I wanted a new one anyway, it’s already in the garage so really you’ve saved me work.” He doesn’t look like he believes you but when you assure him again he nods.

“Thanks again Darlin.”

You nod and after throwing away the supplies you’d used get back to gardening.

Two days later you’re headed down the road toward your house when you notice a big black motorcycle sitting on the street in front of it. Bucky is just finishing setting up the mailbox, the post is in the ground, and the box is no longer a plain black box. Instead someone has painted it to match the flowers in the flower bed. You pull into the garage and see that the mailbox you’d purchased is gone. You know you shut your garage door.

“Bucky,” You call making your way down the driveway. He grins up at you, “You really didn’t need to do this.”

“I wanted to.”

“Did you paint it too?”

“Steve did. He’s always been artsy and I figured this would be a bit nicer than that plain box.”

“It’s beautiful. Tell him thank you.” He throws the last of the dirt back into the hole and stomps it down.

“Done.” He goes to leave when you place a hand on his arm.

“How did you get that out of my garage?”

“Darlin, a little garage door isn’t much of a challenge. You should order a security system if you’re livin in there alone. The Howlies won’t always be enough to protect you.”

“I always lock the doors.”

“I could get past those too. I never would unless it was an emergency but that doesn’t mean Hydra won’t.” Your blood runs cold at the thought and a chill runs down your spine. “I’m sorry.”

“Hmm?”

“I didn’t mean to scare ya doll.”

“No, I need to be reminded. It’s just, safe, here not like the city so I forget that it’s still not safe.”

“I could-“ he stops but when you look up at him you’re surprised by the intensity of his gaze, “I could come check on you. Every now and then.”

“I’d like that.”

This starts a pattern, for the first month or so he stops by twice a week. Sometimes staying for dinner, other times having to deal with ‘business’ and just making sure you’re okay before he does so. Then it becomes three or four nights a week, and before you know it he’s at your place most nights.

One night he comes bursting into your place, you’d given him a key a couple months back so he’d stop picking the locks. “Pack a bag. You’re coming to my place tonight.”

“What?” You ask looking up from the homework you’re grading.

“Get some shit together. Now. Right now.” You’ve never seen Bucky like this and it’s honestly kinda terrifying.

“Bucky what’s going on?”

“You’ve been threatened and I need to get you safe.”

“So the belly of the beast is safer than a neutral location?”

“My home is protected by a gang of Howlies. Yours isn’t, come on Doll please pack a bag before I drag you outta here.” You do as he asks, grabbing a change of clothes, pajamas, tooth brush, toothpaste, and the bag you take to school.

“I’m ready.” You tell him and he wraps a hand around one of yours before hurrying you out of the house. You’re surprised to see there are four men waiting in your driveway.

“I’m Steve, I’ll take your bags.” The leader of the Howlies doesn’t look like a rough and tumble biker, but then again neither does Bucky most days.

“Thanks.” You hand over the bags and then Bucky swings a leg over his bike before passing you a helmet.

“Helmet on.”

“It’s like a block.”

“Helmet. On.” He growls and you do as he asks with a huff. One of the men chuckles. “Don’t encourage her Wilson.” Bucky snaps as you buckle the helmet. “Swing on Darlin.” You do and he revs the engine before rolling out of the driveway. If he’d been more relaxed you’d actually have loved to go for a ride. But not tonight. He’s way too tense and he and the rest of the men roar down the street. They pull the driveway and the other four men linger as Bucky continues up it toward the garage.

“Barton, Lang, first watch.” Steve orders and two of the men pull away as their leader rolls into the garage next to Bucky. The one Bucky’s called Wilson joins you. “I’ll take her stuff to your room Buck.” Steve says as you swing off of the bike, Wilson takes the helmet from your hands then whispers,

“Ask him why he really hit your mailbox.” Then winks and is gone. You’re standing there, completely confused, when Bucky speaks.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for anyone to find out you were connected to me. Somehow they did.”

“It’s fine Bucky. I mean is this how I expected my night to go? Hell no, but I wouldn’t give up my connection to you, I love spending time with you.”

“You do?”

“Yea. I’m so glad you almost killed Mr. Nelson’s cat and killed my mailbox instead.” You tell him. He won’t look at you, “Oh my god you did kill the cat, didn’t you?”

“No darlin.”

“Then what is it? Something’s bothering you.” You take his face into your hands forcing him to look at you. “Bucky please.”

“I didn’t almost hit a cat. I’d never seen you before, not really and, God this is so embarrassing.” He grumbles, “I got so distracted by you and how gorgeous I think you are that I drove right into your mailbox.” You can’t help it, you laugh. Bucky tries to pull away from you but you wrap your arms around his neck and press your mouth to his.

It takes him a second to respond but when he does it’s with his whole body. His arms wrap around your waist and he drags you into his lap, so you’re sideways on his bike. He growls lowly as his lips coax yours apart, he swallows the sigh that passes your lips. You pull away first, resting your forehead against his you laugh softly.

“So about being connected to me and how you don’t care.”

“I really, really don’t care Barnes.” You assure him before kissing him again.

[gayrightsmoron]

I GAVE YOU BLOOD BLOOD BLOOD

I GAVE U GALLONS OF THIS STUFF, MORE THAN YOU COULD DRINK BUT IT COULD NEVER BE ENOUGH