#breaking news: local plant bitch has plant tattoos

[rowanthane]

ROWAN THANE + tattoos

i. rowan’s old lady tattoo. she got it when she was 24, just before her and andy’s wedding. it was last minute and rhea and reina had surprised her with the appointment, but it was something she had already been thinking about. she got the traditional primordial snake, but added the flowers for her own personal touch. it’s on her right hip and thigh.

ii. located on the left side of her torso. rowan got this tattoo on the one year anniversary of her miscarriage. it consists of a blue butterfly, a row of sunflowers and the name ‘madison rhea’ written above it in script text. 

iii. the symbol for queen of clubs on her right wrist. she got it drunk in new orleans on andy’s 21st birthday. andy has a matching king of clubs on his left wrist. jack and reina, who were with them, have the king and queen of spades. 

iv. on the left side of her collarbone she has a minimalist sun rise with the words ‘here comes the sun’ under it. she got it because it was her favourite song, and to this day still is. it was her first tattoo, she got when she was seventeen and her mother had a fit when she saw it. she was grounded for four months.

v.  a band of flowers around her left ring finger. she got it when she and andy re-married in baton rouge. she loves her ring and still wears it most days but she also really likes having something permanent there, too. 

vi. a stethoscope on the back of her neck. it’s usually hidden by her hair but you can see it when she wears her hair up. rowan got it when she finished pre-med with a couple of her friends she graduated with. 

vii. two large sunflowers with a bee on her right forearm. there’s no real meaning behind this one, she just got it when she was in her early thirties because sunflowers are her favourite and she was bored one day. 

viii. money, dick, power. rowan barely remembers getting this tattoo. it’s on her left ankle and she does her best to never acknowledge it’s existence. it was another drunken new orleans decision featuring reina, ramina and sutton. it’s in reina’s hand writing and supposed to be a reminder of the priorities in life.

ix. tree of life tattoo on her right arm, on the back of her bicep above her elbow. the tree of life is a symbol of a fresh start on life, positive energy and bright futures. she got it when she finally started feeling like herself again after the death of her daughter. 

[petri808]

We’ll Take Back Heaven a Nalu Yakuza Au

1 | 2

—

The moment Lucy left the room, Natsu simply turned and gave a silent look to his lieutenant Gray who nodded back in acknowledgment and left with one of the men. He sat back in his chair, fingers steepled below his chin in thought. Could it really be one of his own men? Some of the lower level guys didn’t always follow the rules, but it was rare for them to utterly disregard them! Oh! That really pissed him off, because they knew better then to test Natsu’s patience. There’s a damn good reason he was able to create such a lucrative gang in the heart of Tokyo when so many others would kill for it. By the age of 21, his father retired and left the position of Oyabun leader to Natsu. But, Natsu wasn’t satisfied with the old way of doing things. This was the 21st century and times must change.

It was well known that the Yakuza traversed a dangerous underworld full of illegalities. Drugs, prostitution, gambling, shake downs and extortion, theft, or in other words the seedier side of society. So that is where Natsu focused his attention. Some of the very first of the changes were to reign in unauthorized violence or any crimes that utilized it. Such a move sent a utter shockwave through the order and those that refused to let go of the old ways were swiftly eliminated to instill an image of power and fear that Natsu Dragneel was not to be messed with. His logic behind the move was simple. Do not do anything that brings attention to the gang and attacking someone on the street for a few yen is a quick way for the authorities to show up. So, in a way, Natsu was lucky it happened to be one of Lucy’s employees and not a random person, because they would have immediately called the police. Though it also brought up another question. Were there other crimes he just hadn’t heard of yet?

“Well, she’s still as feisty as ever, gihi.” Gajeel broke the silence of the room when he returned. “Could’ve cut the sexual tension with a sword.”

Natsu crossed his arms in feigned annoyance. If it were any other underling, they would have received a harsher response, but Gajeel was one of his oldest and trusted friends. “Pfft. I don’t know what you’re talking about. She’s a rival, that’s it. You know that.”

“Mmhmm.” Gajeel snickered. “So, now what?”

“Gray started working on finding who it was. I want you to call your contacts at police and see if they’ve had any reports of recent robberies in the area, and if there were, any details we can use to figure out who it might be.”

“Can do boss. Anything else?”

“You think it could one of our own?”

Gajeel looked up for a couple of minutes as if he were running their personnel through his mind. Finally, he rubbed his chin. “There’s a couple of newbies, a bit young and dumb that might be stupid enough to break the rules. I’ll call my contacts first before helping Gray press the men for info. Someone’s gotta know something.”

“Good. You do that and let me know as soon as you get a lead. I want this dealt with as quickly as possible.”

“Gotcha.”

Between Natsu’s two lieutenants and their best men, they interviewed all of the most likely suspects. Gajeel’s police informant let him know that there were a couple other robberies that sounded similar a few blocks away from where Lucy’s employee and client had been accosted. He also learned those two victims gave a similar description of the robber. With the new information, along with other snitches, they narrowed it down within a few days to a low-level street guy in the organization. But unlike Gajeel’s initial hunch, it wasn’t one of the newbies. Instead, the male had been with them for a couple of years now and never caused any problems. In fact, the guy fashioned himself as a smooth talking ladies’ man who supposedly disliked violence. So, it was a bit surprising it was one of the ones they’d least expected.

Gajeel and his men found the man named Bora Prominence laying low at his girlfriend’s apartment after he’d heard the gang was looking for him. Not the smartest move. The woman gave him up without a fight, fearing the Yakuza more than her boyfriend. So, once she’d let them inside, they quickly found Bora hiding in the bathroom and dragged him out.

“It wasn’t me!” Bora screamed as the men beat him to the floor. “You got no proof I did shit!”

Gajeel planted his foot into the small of the man’s back and held him down. “Two of the witnesses saw the tattoo on your face. That’s enough evidence for us.” He growled. “You knew the code and what would happen if you broke it, so stop being a bitch.”

But Bora continued to resist the four men, pushing off the floor with his arms unsuccessfully against Gajeel’s massive weight or fending off kicks from the others. They pummeled him with fists and kicks over and over until one clear blow finally knocked him unconscious long enough to be tied up. Despite a heavy beating bad enough to leave him bruised and bloodied, he continued to scream about his innocence. Back at headquarters, they dragged him into Natsu’s office with hands bound behind his back and forced him onto his knees.

The room held Natsu sitting at his desk, along with both lieutenants, four of their men keeping Bora restrained, and lastly Lucy with the victim to Natsu’s right side. He had contacted her as soon as he knew the suspect was being brought in. And thought they were pretty certain of guilt, the woman’s immediate reaction when they’d brought Bora in of cringing back and moving closer to her boss spoke volumes.

“Is that him?” Natsu questioned to gain a verbal confirmation.

“Y-Yeah,” the woman squeaked out. “He’s the one who pushed me down and robbed us.”

Natsu’s eyes stayed narrowed and glaring at Bora as he addressed the women. “Thank you, that’ll be all. Heartfilia you both can leave now I’ll handle things from here.”

“You’re a doll,” Lucy giggled and gave Natsu a quick teasing peck on the cheek before ushering her employee away. They’d done what they needed to do, now it was his job to finish it.

“Tch, so that’s what this is all about.” Bora sneered, spitting out a clot of blood. “Cause that bitch got you all worked up over a measly few bucks?”

“Watch it!” Natsu roared. “It ain’t a good idea to piss me off anymore then I already am!” There was a fire burning behind Natsu’s stare because when he looked at this man Bora, he doesn’t see the crimes themselves, but the disobedient threat he posed to their organization. How dare this selfish ignorant punk threaten everything they’ve worked hard to build! And to accuse him of weakness in doing Lucy’s bidding just sealed the man’s fate.

Bora snapped back defiantly, though the crack in his tone gave away the fear brewing beneath. “What does it matter, I know what awaits me.”

“You’re right.” Natsu relaxed back into his chair once he sensed the man’s inevitable compliance. “You knew the consequences for crossing me. What does it matter if my rival is also benefiting in this way? Because I know there are other victims. Dumbass, how do you think we linked you to all this? Those other victims reported it to the police! Which is exactly why I have the rules I have in place! You put all of us in jeopardy by pulling this kind of stupid low level bullshit!”

“Pfft, you act like we’re saints. If the cops really wanted to, they’d look into the other illegal shit we do regardless.”

“No, it’s you who fails to recognize there is a hierarchy to the kinds of crimes that bring heat on us. Drugs? Prostitution? The cops don’t care as much, but assault? Robbing people, murders, now those are things they will pay attention to, and I will not tolerate it!” Natsu sat forward with a malevolent grin. “Welcome to the modern Yakuza.”

Drugs and prostitution were a part of the gangs dealings, but the bigger scheme was in shaking down the local business owners for protection money. Thing is, Natsu’s gang actually did the protection part causing crimes in that area for customers or businesses to drop down to nearly zero. So, while the business owners weren’t thrilled to cut a portion of their profits, they also appreciated not having to worry about security. That and because of the gangs connections, they had pipelines of cheaper priced products which helped to keep their costs down. This more symbiotic relationship is why they didn’t go to the authorities and why the gang could hold such a control over the area. Making sure the areas streets were protected from violent crime is a testament to the gangs power and would insure that these businesses stayed compliant.

“Tch.” Bora retorted. “You’re just young and dumb. Eventually you’ll realize there’s a reason why things were done a certain way in the old days.”

“Maybe, maybe not, but your days of worrying about it are over.” Natsu motioned to Gajeel. “I’m done. Get him out of my face.”

Gajeel then motioned to his men to haul Bora to his feet and drag him away to an unknown destination never to be seen from again. Cliche as it may sound, even in killing off a problem like Bora, Natsu’s gang didn’t follow tradition. Bora would be held as a prisoner until his wounds healed then his death made to look like just another suicide statistic. In the seven years that Natsu has reigned, not one murder had been laid at their doorstep and he intended to keep it that way.

Now that the Bora business was over, Natsu closed his eyes and fully relaxed into his chair with a sigh. He didn’t exactly enjoy playing the tough guy bit and only did it out of necessity. This was a life his father groomed him for since birth, but he’d love nothing more than to just settle down with a wife and start a family of his own. Not that he couldn’t already do so, but that required finding the right woman to settle down with and no one other than his old flame has ever evoked I’m him more than a passing glance.

He didn’t know how long he’d been relaxing when there was a knock on his office door. “Yeah? Come in.”

“Sorry to disturb you,” the man spoke as he quietly entered the room. Invel Yura was Natsu’s Saiko-kamon, the top advisor and managed the administrative side of the organization. “I wanted to go over your schedule for tomorrow in case I need to make any changes.”

“It’s fine.” Natsu gestured to the chair fronting the desk. Invel had been the advisor to his father for the last few years of his tenure and he fully trusted the man’s diligence.

Invel sat down and opened up a calendar. “Tomorrow morning, we have a new shipment of prescription drugs coming in as well as some ecstasy, so you’ll need to appoint someone to oversee inventory processing.”

“Hmm, who should I have work on this?” Natsu asked for Invel’s opinion.

“Might I suggest Rajeel Ramal? He’s gruff but meticulous and has done a good job so far.”

“Is that so? Then that’s fine, let him continue. What’s next?”

“Okay,” Invel scribbled the orders in his book. “Next, the only other thing you have is a party to attend with one of our high end clients.”

“Which one?”

“The son of Yuuji Katsunuma of Katsunuma industries.”

“Ah yes, the one we supply with cocaine. Such a spoiled brat, but he spends a lot with us.”

Invel chuckled. “That’s the one. It starts at 8pm.”

“Okay. Thank you, Invel. Is that all for now?”

“Yes. If anything, else comes up I will let you know.”

“I’m sure you will. Oh. Have an appropriate suit pressed and ready for me for the occasion.”

“Very well, sir. Is there anything else you need from me?”

“No. You may go.”

Invel nodded and returned to his own office. He made a few typical phone calls such as to Natsu’s house staff regarding an evening outfit and the transporters bringing the morning inventory to make sure everything was on schedule. Aside from the Bora issue, the going’s-on of business continued as normal. The final call he placed before he’d leave for lunch was to Rajeel of a simple a five word instruction. Nothing more needed to be said, knowing that his associate would understand. Invel sat back in his chair with a smile. “It’s almost too easy…”

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #300

that’s a lot of time wasted, lmao

If you were a witch, which animal would be your familiar? Could I have like, a melanistic barn owl? That'd be dope. They're fuckin gorgeous. If there's a design on your shirt, what is it? Ha, speaking of owls... Would you ever visit a ghost town? MOTHERFUCKER would I. Bringing my camera, too. What would you do if you found out your life was only a simulation controlled by someone else? I have a very much Detroit: Become Human (phenomenal game, btw) outlook on this: I think, therefore I am. It honestly wouldn't affect me terribly. I sure would hate my creator though, jfc, lmao. What's the scariest thing you've accidentally found on the internet? Okay so there is this one video filmed by some guys who had this really strange, sulking guy in black stalking them, and it ends with the suspected murderer slinking over to the guys (who were by this point finding it almost funny, due to how the man was acting) and charging with a knife, I think, once he was very close. I believe the men were never found afterwards. It is SO goddamn unnerving. Is there anything bothering you right now? Not to be a Negative Nancy, but when isn't there lmao. Thinking of every Halloween costume you've had, which one was the most creative? I never had creative ones, really. What's the picture on your calendar for this month? I don't have a relevant calender, just old meerkat ones on a wall in my room. If you were a mythical creature, which would you be? As much as I love dragons, they're targeted too much in fantasy to kill, so let's not, haha. Being a dryad would be cool. Or druid. Either/or. If you were an animal, which would you be? A housecat, ig. Were you ever bullied when you were younger and how did you handle it? I consider myself very lucky to have not been. Have you ever thrown something away and then wanted it back? Okay so it's "deleted" versus "thrown away," technically, but there are two senior prom pictures in specific I desperately want back because fuck my low self-esteem, I look beautiful in them and so damn happy. I even tried Facebook restore programs that supposedly recovered all pictures you ever removed, but I couldn't salvage them. I'm still pissed about it, haha. What's one random city you want to visit? I don't have a specific city, per se. More so just countries in general. If you owned a store, what would you most likely sell? I think owning a pet supply store would be really cool, with some animals that are actually very well-cared for, unlike chain pet stores. I HATE those, vehemently. So unspeakably ignorant and neglectful. If you had a garden, what sort of plants would you grow? I don't want a garden, but hypothetically, I'd love orchids, dahlias, tiger lilies, a weeping willow tree, some strawberries... What's your favorite phase of the moon? Full, of course. What's the song for your life right now? I've felt extremely connected to Seether's "Weak" lately. Do you believe that when you die, you get to see all your loved ones again? I hope so... Who would you be the most excited to see? DO I ACTUALLY NEED TO ANSWER THIS QUESTION?????????? Do you enjoy reading National Geographic magazines? If I'm like, sitting in a waiting room and they're available, I'll go for them. Do you know anyone who's serving in the military right now? Welcome to the South, baby. The boys graduate, they're going straight for the military. I only have one real friend who was one but left tho because he fucking hated it. Does or did either of your parents serve in the military? No. Has anything in your house ever caught on fire? Not in this house, no. As a small child, did you ever feel as if you were different or weird? Absofuckinglutely. I have A LOT of bad memories of instances where I felt like "the weird kid." Can you say "happy birthday" in another language? Omg... I forgot the German phrase. Wow, I'm rusty. What subjects do you or did you get the worst grades in? Math. Do you have photos to go with all of the contacts in your phone? I don't have pictures that go with any. Who was the last person to comment on one of your photos on Facebook and how did you meet that person? I just checked, and it was my friend Summer. I met her because she was actually first friends with my younger sister in pre-k, but we grew closer than they did in our teen years. What career paths are you considering? I just want to be a photographer. So badly. But I've felt super, super discouraged lately. Do you watch music videos? I pretty much never do, but rather listen through the artists' Topic uploads or lyric videos. I don't generally like official music videos because they tend to have other sounds/parts/breaks/etc. in them that distract from the song. Have you ever clicked on those banner ads that promise a prize for clicking? Probably by accident at some point in time. What kind of computer are you using? Acer Nitro. What kind of computer do you wish you were using? I'm fine with what I have. Have you ever had a weight change so drastic you went to the doctor? .-. How cold does it have to be before you put on a sweater? Depends on how long I'll be outside, but in most situations, in the 50s. Do you eat things off the floor? Um, ew. Who do people say you look like? My sisters. Do you usually get your homework done on time? When I was in school, I was very serious about having my homework finished by the date it was due. Have you ever framed your old movie ticket stubs? I've kept some, but never framed any. Do you have a digital camera? A Canon, yeah. Have you ever stuck something inappropriate in an electrical outlet? Bitch I ain't tryna get electrocuted. How many days has it been since your last birthday? My b-day is actually coming up soon; the 5th of February. Do you want any more siblings than you have now? Well, considering both my parents (and stepmom) are in their 50s... How easily shocked are you? VERY. I am extremely jumpy and on edge at like all times. You like the color blue, don't you? I mean yeah. Particularly the lighter tints. Who was the last person who asked you something that made you think? My therapist REEEEAAAALLY makes me do this. She's an absolute pro at getting me to dig deep into myself. Ever fired a gun? No, and I don't want to. From 1-10, how would you rate your cooking skills? Is 0 an option? Do you notice the heat or the cold more? HEAT, JESUS FUCK. It can be one or two degrees above what I consider stable and I'll be sweating. I'm hypersensitive to it I know from being in such a consistent temperature in my room like 24/7. Do you believe in miracles? Probably no. What hurts more: scratches or bites? Bites, if you're talking serious ones. Do you prefer rabbits to mice? No, mice (and especially rats) are absolutely amazing, intelligent animals. Bonus points for being mega cute too, though I do find rabbits cuter. Who out of all the people you know reasonably well is the most "dark?" Sara, haha. Favorite chocolate-based candy? Reese's. Do you call anyone babe or baby? My pets sometimes. Name me a food you used to like that you now don't: Peas, olives. Name me a food you now like but never used to: Mashed potatoes, IF prepared very well (by my standards, obviously). Would you rather live in Europe, The US, or Australia? By this point, take me to Europe. If it wouldn't be such a huge life change and leaving so many people, I would 120% move to Canada, but out of these, Europe will do. Would you rather have a big house, a lot of kids, or a high flying job? Give me the high-flying job, 100%. I don't want kids, and I have no need for a large house. Is crime a big problem in your area? Oh yes. What’s your town/city most well-known for? By the locals, being the crime hub, actually, lol. Name 5 objects that you don’t have but would like right now: Hmmm... I want a 40g tank as an upgrade for Venus, a gaming chair for when I turn the extra room into my "office" so I don't destroy my back sitting there, new glasses and a driving permit, and don't forget a gd tattoo needle pounding my skin. :^) If you were given the choice to choose your child’s gender, would you? Yes, I would absolutely want a girl just because IF I wanted kids, I'd want a daughter named Alessandra. Do you get along well with your family doctor/your doctor? Yeah, she's nice. What types of soups do you like? None. If a color could reflect your current mood, which would it be? Grayish blue. The last time you saw fireworks? I really don't know; it's been years, at least. Have you ever gone to a movie premiere? Possibly for Silent Hill: Revelation, but I'm not certain. Who was the last person to make you laugh out loud? My mom, because she made me remember something funny. What was the last commercial you heard selling? *shrug* Do you prefer fairly common names or a bit out of the ordinary ones? Oh, definitely rare and unique ones. Would you rather have a pet cat, dog, horse or tortoise? At this current time, a dog for Mom, which we're actually probably getting. She misses having one super badly. Is your laugh loud, normal or very silent? My laugh is loud and obnoxious as fuck. What are you interested in that most people would be surprised to know? Tarantulas, probably. I love them, even though spiders kinda scare me. Last movie you watched the whole way through? Elf, I think, with Sara's fam. What's your favorite fruit? Strawberries are where it's at. Last time you drank coffee? I've only ever sipped coffee to try to see if I liked it. Never have. I THINK I last took a sip of Sara's when we went on a breakfast date? Has anyone ever called you rich? Calling me rich would be entirely ludicrous. What makes you feel beautiful? Nothing. How many bathrooms are in your house? Two. Last time you were on a plane and where did you go? A couple years ago, coming home from Illinois. Favorite flavor muffin? Uggghhhh chocolate. Do you prefer stripes or polka dots? Polka dots. I tend to find circles visually appealing. Did you take Music when you were in school? I think all the elementary school students did. I was also in band in middle and high school; I played the flute. Why did you last feel like crying? I'm just sick of how my life is going. Do you find being alone with strangers scary, interesting, or indifferent? I find it either awkward or terrifying, depending on the gender. It's not a willing thing or intended sexism whatsoever, I'm just naturally afraid of men. Do your initials spell a legitimate word? If so, what? No. Does someone’s background affect whether you'll be friends with them or not? Well, it depends on what they've done. How about their religious background? No. If someone admitted cheating in a past relationship of theirs, would you trust them? Nope, bye. Did you ever want to be a cook as a kid? No. How about a fashion designer? No. Do you prefer fire or ice? Fire aesthetically, but ice is certainly less intimidating. When happy, do you become more talkative? OH yes. Are you offended easily by non-politically correct language? No, really. I wouldn't say derogatory terms, but I really don't understand why most people put so much weight into a single made-up word. But again, you won't hear that language coming out of my mouth because I understand that it just does hurt some people, and I respect that. Do you think the censors/fcc go a bit too far or are just right? It's gone overboard, imo. What's your I.Q? I don't want to know, haha. Have you ever taken a martial art? Which one{s}? No. Do you know anyone who is scared of you? Um, no. What person who has died would you bring back and why? Probably Steve Irwin. His children have done FUCKING FANTASTIC at carrying on his legacy and purpose, but I feel he could've taught the world so much more than he had time to... Do you like watermelon? No. Too watery. Can you remember the month of your first kiss? Yes, actually. March. What do you think is the most interesting thing about you? I'm unsure, really. Do you like being complimented or does it make you uncomfortable? Both. What artist's paintings do you find the most beautiful? This is an impossible question. What about the most disturbing? Oh man, I watch this one person on deviantART that makes especially creepy artwork. I follow a loooot of dark artists, though, so it's difficult to pick. Have you ever gone to a camp or summer school? A church-related summer thing, yes, as a kid. What was your favorite cartoon as a child? Pokemon was/is where it's at. What was your biggest fear as a child? Thunderstorms, holy shit. Would you rather be able to fly or breathe underwater? Be able to breathe underwater. What about invisibility or mindreading? Definitely invisibility. Mindreading would just... suck. Hurt. Especially if you couldn't control it. Which stereotype do you dislike the most? Good question, considering I hate a shit ton. Can you remember all your past teachers names? No, not all of them. Do you like talent shows? Which ones? I don't mind watching 'em. I particularly used to love America's Got Talent. Have you ever failed an important exam? In what? Yes; I failed horribly at my final math exam the last time I was in school. Are you on any meds? Too many. Just way too many for someone my age. I'm really starting to think I'm over-medicated to where it's dulling my senses, feelings, and also destroying my memory. But I kinda need like... all of them. I'm talking to my psychiatrist in just a couple days though, actually, and I'm going to talk to him about maybe trying to wean me off my OCD med, since I haven't had big symptoms in a long time. I wanna see how I deal without it. What color is your razor? Black and orange. What is your fave frozen treat? Just the classic ice cream. Which supermarket do you like to shop at? We tend to get our groceries from Wal-Mart. Do you struggle to say ‘no’ to things you don’t want to do? YESSIREE. Are you friends with someone a lot of people dislike? I don't think there's anyone that is widely disliked, no. Have you ever had to deal with someone close to you going off to war? No, thankfully. Other than yourself, who did you last buy something for? Mom. What's something you complain about frequently? My legs hurting. It's hard to ignore when taking one step is painful. Have you ever talked about your period with a guy? Were they okay with it, or grossed out? I certainly haven't talked about it in-depth, but it's been mentioned in some way when I was with Jason. I mean we were together for three and a half years, sexually active (and I ain't doing jackshit if it's that time of the month), and I spent as much time with him as possible, so... it woulda came up. I'm sure he was indifferent about it, he was a mature guy. Have you ever been to an Asian (any type) market? If so, what is the closest one to you? No. I've never even heard of one around here. Have you ever slept with a member of the opposite sex without having sex? Back up two questions, haha. That was normal. How would you feel if your significant other had tattoos? Shit man, I love tattoos. I'd obviously not care. How have you been feeling today? Depressed. Where’s your phone right now? On my chest. I'm lying down. Is there a certain person that makes you feel safe? ugh When you drink alcohol with friends, do you play drinking games? I never have. What are the best kind of Girl Scout cookies? I don't remember their names, honestly... but the chocolate and peanut butter ones come to mind.

[yeehawbisexualold]

You're a Marshmallow, Emma Swan

A CS Veronica Mars AU.

Rated T. 4.3k words. (1/?)

A/N The first chapter very closely follows the pilot in order to set up the characters and plot. Future chapters may not be as verbatim. Also, words in italics are used to represent voice-overs. Although David will be her father, I decided to keep Emma’s last name as Swan because Veronica Mars is such a distinctive name and so is Emma Swan and I don’t think Emma Nolan or the Nolan family would pack quite the same punch.

Welcome to Storybrooke high school. If you go here, your parents are either millionaires or work for millionaires. Storybrooke, California, a town without a middle class. If you’re in the second group, you get a job—fast food, movie theaters, mini-marts. Emma Swan’s after school job means tailing philandering spouses or investigating false injury claims.

She gets out of her car, a beat up, yellow bug, to see a crowd formed around the school’s flagpole. The source of the crowd’s interest, she finds, is a naked boy, duct taped, precariously to cover his private bits, to the pole with the word snitch (misspelled as “snich”) painted across his bare chest. She pushes through the hoard of spectators, gawking at the scrawny boy’s misfortune. “Who’d that guy rat out?” “Why doesn’t somebody cut him down?” “Yeah, I’ll do it. I wanna be the guy up there tomorrow.”

Reaching into her pocket, she tells the guy snapping a selfie on his phone to move.

“Who died and made you the queen?” the jack ass asks as she pulls out her pocket knife. He backs away silently when she snaps it open near his face.

“You’re new here, huh?” she asks the kid as she begins sawing away the duct tape near his wrists. He nods. “Welcome to Storybrooke High.” The bell for class rings and as the crowd begins to disperse, she sardonically cheers “Go Pirates!”

She cuts away enough to free him but leaves him with the pieces that protect his modesty.

In advanced placement English, she rests her head on her desk, falling asleep to the sound of her droning teacher’s voice.

“Did anybody complete the reading?” the woman inquires, removing her glasses. “Emma? Emma Swan, congratulations you’re my volunteer. Pope, An Essay On Man, lesson one.”

“Hope springs eternal in the human breast: Man never is, but always to be blest. The soul, uneasy and confined from home, rests and expatiates in a life to come,” she speaks from memory.

“And what do you suppose Pope meant by that?” the teacher quizzes.

She twiddles her fingers. “Life’s a bitch until you die.”

“Thank you, Miss Swan, for that succinct and somewhat inappropriate response.”

~

Random locker searches are the latest tactic the administration has adopted in its losing war on drugs. Except for Emma Swan, the searches aren’t random. She knows when they’re going to happen before Vice Principle “Grumpy” does. (His real name is Leroy but the students of Storybrooke aren’t much for respecting authority.

“Emma Swan. This should be good,” one of Sheriff Zelena Mills’ lackeys says with a smirk.

“Will you please open your locker?” Grumpy asks.

She twists in her combination and swings open the door to reveal a perfectly bare locker. Well, bare to the exception of a photo of Grumpy framed by a red heart and taped to the metal door

“Wow,” she huffs with a grin. “This is a little embarrassing.”

~

Emma sits alone at a round, red plastic lunch table, stabbing her disposable fork into the atrocity the school calls lunch. She stares blankly across the outdoor cafeteria at a group of rowdy students.

I used to sit there, at that table. It’s not like my family met the minimum net worth requirement. My dad didn’t own his own airline like Greg Mendell’s or serve as Ambassador to Belgium like Tamara’s. But my dad used to be the sheriff and that had a certain cache. Let’s be honest though. The only reason I was allowed past the velvet ropes was Neal Hood, son of software billionaire Robin Hood. He used to be my boyfriend. Then one day, with no warning, he ended things.

The most obnoxious of the students perches himself on Neal’s lap, rubbing his chest as he smirks at Emma.

And let’s not forget Killian Jones. His dad makes 20 million a picture. You probably own his action figure. He built his career on being the British bad boy and his son tries his damnedest to upstage his levels of naughtiness. Every school has an obligatory, psychotic jack ass. He’s ours.

Neal pushes him off and turns his attention back to Tamara who’s snuggled herself up against his side and Killian simply sits next to him clapping his hands together and pointing at Emma with a wild grin.

A figure sits down across from her, partially blocking her vision of Killian’s antics.

“You ok?” they ask, startling her out of her focused glare.

“What?“ 

It’s the kid she cut down earlier.

“You look, I don’t know, hypnotized.” He explains, opening his lunch.

“Did I say you could sit here?” she snaps at him. As soon as he stands, shoving his lunch back in the bag, she feels remorse. Killian pisses her off but that’s no reason to treat the new kid, who’s already had a rough enough first day, like shit. “Wait. Of course, you can sit here.”

He sits back down with a smile.

“That was cool what you did.”

Before she can respond, she’s interrupted by a voice behind her.

“My bitch. Weren’t you supposed to wait for me at the flagpole?” The bare sleeved, tattooed interrupter crouches down and gets in the kids face. “I’m not sure I could have made that any clearer.”

The kid looks like he’s going to shit his pants. 

“Leave him alone,” Emma demands and the guy turns his attention to her.

“Love, the only time I care what a woman has to say is when she’s riding my big ole hog and even then it’s not so much words as just a bunch of oohs and aahs, ya know?” He asks planting himself in front of her.

“So it’s big, huh?”

“Legendary.”

“Well, let’s see it. I mean if it’s as big as you say, I’ll be your girlfriend.” She smiles brightly and gasps as if she’s just had a thought. “We could go to prom together!”

When he just laughs and leans back she continues “What seems to be the problem? I’m on a schedule here.”

“Dude, don’t let blondie talk to you like that!” his friend chimes in.

“Sounds like your buddy here wants to see it too.”

“Hell, I’ll show you mine!” the buddy shouts but is interrupted by Grumpy, arriving to break up the disturbance and ask Emma why trouble follows her around.

“So what did you do?” she asks the ‘snitch,’ who’s name she learns is Henry, after everyone clears away from the table. If she just confronted Will Scarlet, the leader of the local biker gang, she deserves to know what she was standing up for.

He explains how he works at the local gas station and while he was working alone last night, some of the guys walked in and stole alcohol from the store, stuffing bottles in their jackets and only paying for a pack of gum. He tripped the silent alarm but when the police came—"We don’t have police here. We have a sheriffs department.“—and he went outside, he realized an entire gang sat in the parking lot. Intimidated by all of the guys, he told the sheriff he pressed the alarm by accident. “You need to go see the wizard, ask him for some guts.” The sheriff told him before hauling the two bikers away.

“Go see the wizard? She said that?” Emma asks once he’s finished his story. “Congratulations, in your short time here, you’ve already managed to piss of the biker gang and the local sheriff.”

~

She heads to her fathers P.I. office, Swan Investigation, after school and is surprised to find Regina Hood’s car there. She hates Emma almost as much as she loves her son.

She sits down at the reception desk and busies herself with paperwork, waiting for Regina to walk out. Ingrid, the local, low-level lawyer walks in and offers “her father” a case to discover how the strip club her client works for keeps their liquor license and help her client make a deal.

After Ingrid leaves, Regina walks out of her father’s office.

“Don’t get the wrong idea, David. I don’t like you,” she says coolly, strutting past in her clean, pressed, white pantsuit, her chin tilted back in an air of arrogance. She turns her icy gaze to Emma. “I hate the fact that I’m here. But I know if anyone will be dogged and resourceful in this matter, it’ll be you. Don’t call me at home, I’ll call you.”

And then she’s gone, the air feeling decidedly less chilly without her presence.

Sure she’s a bitch. But can you blame her? After all, dad did try to send her husband to jail for life.

Her dad joins her to eat and she attempts to figure out why Regina was here. He ignores her attempts at questioning him, joking about the plastic resemblance of the cheese on their sandwiches. But after enough grilling, he reveals that Regina believes her husband Robin is having an affair—late nights and motels—and that he took the case because they need the money.

“Good, I would have been pissed if you hadn’t.”

“I wouldn’t have cared if you were.”

They continue eating together until the phone rings and her father announces he has to leave for a trip to El Paso, demanding she leaves the Hood case alone. She nods in response, knowing full well she’s lying.

~

She follows Robin Hood to his office. As she sits in her car, staring up into the windows of the building, she thinks about her best friend Milah, Robin’s daughter. Leaning back against the seat she recalls the pep squad car wash they worked in October of last year, both of them wearing the tight t-shirt and shorts combo, Emma with her hair in pigtails and Milah with hers long and loose.

“I’ve got a secret, Emma Swan,” she giggled, conspiratorially as she rubbed a soapy sponge along the hood of a car. 

Those were the last words Emma ever heard from Milah. Later that night, she was found dead by her pool.

Emma’s father had been driving her home when he received a call about a disturbance at the Hood estate. When they arrived, David instructed her to stay in the car. But she saw Neal, sitting on a bench with his arms tucked around himself, rocking back and forth, his face ashen and his eyes wide, filled with an emotion to this day she can not name. All it took was one look at him and she was rushing in the house to see what happened.

“Where’s Milah?” she asked, her chest tight. All he could offer in response was a scrunched brow and a mouth, shaking into a frown.

Outside she found the area swarming with cops, a grieving couple, and by the pool, the lifeless body of her dead best friend—eyes wide and unseeing, blood dripping down her face from the gaping wound above where her temple met her scalp.

But everyone knows the story, the murder of Milah Hood. It was on the cover of People Magazine. It made entertainment tonight. The town was flooded with journalists. And of course, everyone remembers the bumbling, local sheriff. The one who went after the wrong man.

That bumbling sheriff was my dad.

Six weeks after Milah’s death, her crime scene video was leaked by someone in the sheriff department. In a matter of hours, millions of people around the world had seen the grizzly footage. Someone had to be held responsible and that someone was David Swan.

“So, Swan, does your dad still think that Milah’s father did this?” Killian confronted her in the school computer lab. “That’s my girlfriend. Your friend. Neal’s sister. Your dad is destroying the Hood family. What’s the matter with you people? What’s the matter with you?”

She knew he was lashing out because he was hurt but so was she. When he maliciously spit out the words, “I’m done with you.” She thought good because she couldn’t help but hate him a little bit for the way he was treating her.

Her father’s belief that Robin was the murderer no longer mattered. An emergency recall removed him from office and the investigation was no longer in his hands. Her mother wanted to move out of Storybrooke. The loss of status and loss of income was too much for her.

They had to move because they could no longer afford to stay in their house but Emma and David were not going to be run out of town.

~

A pair of Milah’s shoes were later discovered on the house boat of one Triton King and her father’s successor, Sheriff Zelena Mills’ face was plastered across the news for her amazing arrest.

~

Emma’s dad may not have been right about Robin but, sitting in the parking lot of a skeezy motel named the Camelot, she knows Regina is right about him now. She can’t imagine it’s a business meeting that’s being conducted at one in the morning, behind the door of one of the upper-level rooms.

Before she can get any substantial evidence, her car is swarmed in the parking lot by none other than Will’s gang.

“Car trouble miss?” he asks with a smirk.

“Might be a loose belt but if you wouldn’t mind checking under the hood,” she answers sweetly.

One of the guys walks up to her open window and her dog Wilby, affectionately nicknamed backup, jumps out. The guy lands flat on his back as the dog snarls at his throat. Another stomps up, yelling at her to call off her dog and she tazes him in the chest. Down he goes.

She calls Wilby off.

“I’ll tell you what. I’ll call it a draw,” she tells Will.

“Love, come on, it’s too late for that.”

“Here’s the deal,” Emma informs him, no bull shit face in place. “Leave that kid at school alone for a week and I’ll make sure your boys walk.”

“Why do you care for that kid so much, anyway? Things I heard about you… You must really lay the pipe right.”

“Yeah, that’s it,” she says cheerfully with a sarcastic nod of her head.

Mr. Electricity begins to lift himself up, using her door as leverage, and she charges her tazer in front of his face as a warning.

“Alright, one week. But if you don’t get them off, I’m coming for you, your boy, and your little dog too. And remember, if you get lonely out here, Will love you long time.” He kisses the air at her as he revs his engine.

Quite a reputation I’ve got, huh? You wanna know how I lost my virginity? So do I.

It happened at a party at Tamara’s, that much she knows. She’d curled her hair and put on one of her favorite dresses—white, knee length, and flowy. Her reason for going was simply to show everyone that the way they treated her didn’t affect her.

It was a mistake.

As she walked through the crowded room of people from whom the only attention she received was pointed whispers and giggles, people whom she once considered friends, she was handed a drink. She didn’t know who handed it to her but she chugged it down.

Before long she was stumbling around dizzily and then everything went blank. She woke the next morning, alone in bed, a soreness between her legs and her underwear on the floor. She walked through the house, crying silently, an entirely new type of pain tightening her chest.

She’d thought she’d felt all the pain a person could feel—being unceremoniously dumped by whom she thought was the love of her life, having her best friend murdered, all of her old friends turning against her, and her mother leaving her and her father. But there was at least one thing left the world had to throw at her, one more thing to show her that life truly was a bitch and things would never be the same.

In the present, Robin Hood steps out of the motel room door and Emma snaps as many pictures as she can before he shuts it behind him.

She doesn’t actually get a shot of the woman’s face but she gets some pretty good images of him talking through the door way and the license plates of each car in the lot. That should be enough to get her started.

~

The next day at school, she sits at her usual table. The kid she’d saved is already there.

“You should hear the things people say about you,” he begins.

“You didn’t have to sit at my table,” she grumbles. Who is this kid? She saves his ass and he chooses to sit at her table for what? To make fun of her?

“And what a fine table this is. What do you suppose it’s made of?” he ponders, tapping his closed fist against the shiny top. “Oak?”

“Look, if people are saying such awful things…” she trails off, shaking her head.

“Well, I figure I’ve got a choice. I could either go hang out with the jerks who laughed at me, took pictures of me while I was taped to that flagpole. Or I could hang out with the chick who cut me down.”

It feels good, his kindness, and a warmth blooms in her chest at the thought of a possible new friend.

“So you wanna get the bike club off your ass?”

“Can we come up with a code name?” he asks, eyes wide with hope.

“Sure, kid.”

She laughs at school for the first time she can remember since Milah’s death.

~

Her dad returns that night and as he prepares steak on the grill, Emma tells him she got pictures of Hood at the Camelot. He reprimands her for disobeying him but then asks to see the photos. He looks through the stack of images and pauses on one of the license plates of a car.

“I want you to stay away from Robin. You hear me?” he commands firmly, in the serious father voice he so rarely uses.

“But dad, why?”

“Listen to what I said, Emma. Stay away from him. I’m telling Regina I’m dropping the case.”

He storms into the apartment, leaving the grill unmanned.

~

When Grumpy conducts his next “spontaneous” locker search at school, he makes a stop at Killian Jones’. Killian opens the door, expecting to be in the clear, only to showcase a lovely bong in the shape of a naked man, one hand on his hip, the other grasping the bowl placed where it’s penis should be.

“What’s this, Killian? This appears to be a device used to smoke marijuana.”

Killian looks around the hallways, flooding with people now that the class bell has run and as he’s lead away, his confused eyes land on Emma standing beside Henry.

“I know it was you!” he shouts, angrily, jamming his finger in her face. “This isn’t over, ok?”

She fake yawns at him, patting her hand over her mouth. Henry grins at her side.

“You’re so cute and innocent. I’ll get you for this,” he threatens as he’s pulled away by Grumpy and the deputy.

Jefferson, the residential stoner, passes by and offers her a high five. She’d recruited him in art class the day before to make the bong for her.

Phase two of operation freedom was done.

After school, she drove home to the sheriff’s department. Phase three. With a remote control detonator, he sets off a spark in the bowl of the phallic bong residing in the evidence lock up. The smoke from that sets off the fire alarm and the woman behind the counter calls the fire department.

Then, after the flaming crisis is handled, she heads to the fire department.

“Did you make the switch?” she asks the fire chief who then hands her a large envelope with a video tape inside.

A lot of people in this town still love dad. That comes in handy.

~

The residual love of her father only gets her so far though and sometimes she is left to her own devices.

Using a phony accent she makes a phone call pretending to be the secretary of the sheriff’s department, claiming to be having trouble with the computer’s system. She asks the man on the phone to run a set of plates involved in a hit and run for her. Except there was no hit and run and the plate number she if reading off is from the car parked at the Camelot the night she watched Robin.

“I’ll be damned, that’s some family,” the man on the other line says, chuckling.

“What is it?”

“That car is registered to one Kathryn Swan.”

She hangs up the phone in shock just as her father opens his office door.

“Explain to me again why we’re dropping the Hood case.”

She’s going to give him one more chance to explain himself, to tell her the truth, to tell her why her mother’s car was parked outside the Camelot the night Robin Hood visited it. But he doesn’t take it. Instead, he sips his coffee and gives her some bullshit excuse about corporate espionage, telling her it’s dangerous and they don’t get paid enough.

He asks if she wants to rent a movie and she walks out, leaving him alone in the office.

She heads to the court house and asks the receptionist which direction the bikers case is.

“Emma! I haven’t seen you since…” the woman trail off uncomfortably.

The last time I was here? Come on. That’s easy.

The last time she was there was the morning after Tamara’s party. She’d limped up to the counter, eyes smudged with mascara, and said she needed to report a crime.

After she sat in front of Zelena and reported what happened, Zelena chuckled in her face and asked “Is there anyone in particular you’d like me to arrest? Or should I just round up the sons of the most important families in town.”

Emma sat silently, shocked and dismayed. She knew Zelena was mean but this was downright wicked.

“I’ve got not a shred of evidence to work with here. But that doesn’t matter to your family now does it?” The woman continued on ignoring the tears streaking down Emma’s face. Ignoring her disheveled appearance, her wild hair, her red eyes, her torn dress. Ignoring the pulsing pain Emma could feel through out her entire body, not a pain physical in its origin but manifesting itself as such and causing her anguish never the less. “Look at this, she cries. I’ll tell you what Emma Swan. Why don’t you go see the wizard, ask for a little backbone.“ 

Emma left Zelena’s office with no answers to what had happened to her and no hope of ever finding out.

Now she sits in a courtroom, watching a smug Miss Mills deliver her testimony of her account of the night she arrested the two bikers at Henry’s place of work.

“Your honor, can we show the tape?” the opposing lawyer requests.

When the tape is loaded, no robbery is to be seen. Instead, an officer walks a prostitute to his car and is seen opening the door for her, getting in on his own side, and then guiding her head down to his lap.

Phase one of operation freedom had been staking out the strip club and recording the footage of their interesting ways of keeping a valid liquor license.

“Sheriff Mills is this how you run your department?” the judge questions.

Emma finger guns at Zelena and walks out of the court room.

She meets Henry at the beach and presents him with the actual footage of the robbing. He thanks her and tells her that “Underneath that angry young woman shell there’s a slightly less angry young woman just dying to bake me something. You’re a marshmallow, Emma Swan.”

She grins and turns her head away, amused but unwilling to admit it.

They spend some time flying around his remote controlled airplane. Just as she’s getting the hang of it and actually having some fun, Henry interrupts her.

“Emma, look at your car.”

She turns to see Killian lounging across the hood, crowbar in hand, surrounded by his 09er buddies (the richest of the rich, those residing in the the prestigious 90909 zipcode.)

“Do you know what your little joke cost me?” he asks, hopping off the car and swinging the crowbar.

“Well, I’m pretty sure you won’t be getting your bong back.”

He smashes a headlight. “Wrong answer.” He twirls the metal in his hand. “Would you care to guess again?”

She crosses her arms across the chest of her red leather jacket, keeping her face impassive, unwilling to let him phase her no matter what.

“Clearly, your sense of humor.”

And he smashes another head light.

“Nope, the correct answer is my car. That’s right my daddy took the Jolly away. And you know what I won’t be having?” He questions, resting the bar behind his neck and stepping closer to her. He leans in her face and answers his own question with a smirk and raised brows. “Fun, fun, fun.”

She wants to smack his British accent right out of his mouth.

“Uh, Killian,” his friend warns as a heard of bikes pull up along side them.

It doesn’t take long for Will and his friends to flip the situation in her favor.

“What do we have here? Vandalism?” Will asks. “No, the only vandalism that happens in this town goes through me.”

Killian tells Will he doesn’t have a problem with him and Will tells him he’s wrong. With Will smashing in the hood of Killian’s friend’s car (with the crowbar he’d pulled out of Kilian’s hands) and his biker buddies tearing apart the inside, they’re easily convinced to “head for the hills.”

~

Emma sits in her car outside of her father’s office building, watching him move around through the window.

This morning, when I woke up, I had one person in the world I could count on. But if there’s one thing you learn in this business, the people you love let you down.

David leaves, driving away in his car and she heads into the building. Her dad thinks she doesn’t have the code to the safe but he’s wrong and until now she hasn’t had to use it. She types the code in and opens it to find a large file, stuffed with folders and papers. As she pulls the contents out she realizes it’s the Milah Hood murder file, some of the evidence less than a month old, including the photo of her mother’s car she took the Camelot.

If the confessed killer is already in jail, why hasn’t dad given up on the case?

[smartynuts1-blog]

Plumber Miguel

Miguel Smith, a sexy brown skinned plumber mixed with Jamaican and Mexican just came home from a long days work at the local Mexican restaurant, "La Casa del Grasa". The restaurant recently hired a new manager who has never done inventory before and instead or ordering 10 cases of beans, he ordered 100 cases, which took up too much space in the fridge, so a "Buy 1 - get 3 Re-Fried Bean Burrito Special" was created to get rid of the extra stock. This new special tripled the amount of customers, but brought some unpredicted consequences. The beans gave everyone enough gas to bring condensation on the glass windows. The restaurant began to form two lines - one at the counter and a much more impressive line at the bathroom. Old, rusty pipes installed 65 years ago could not support the extreme amounts of human sludge feed into it that day. When the pipes began to backup the supervisor rushed to call the local plumbing company. When Miguel got the call from his boss about the restaurant backup he was pissed. He was the only one on staff today at his company and it was the hottest day of the Southern Texas summer. It was just his luck to get the call of a plumber's nightmares. After arriving to the restaurant, he was greeted by the sight of a short scrawny guy no taller than 5'4 with a smirk on his face. It was the inexperienced manager who placed the wrong order of beans, named Spencer. He wore bifocal glasses and braces on his teeth. What a loser. Ever since he ordered the wrong amount of beans, costing the store money, all of the employees were teasing him. Spencer was a punk and instead of handling his frustrations properly he took them out on Miguel, who he felt was beneath him, because he cleaned the shit out of pipes on a daily bases. Because Miguel needed the money he himself when Spencer irritated him even though he could have easily have squashed him with his 315 lbs of thick muscle and fat and his 6’5 statue. ”You have a long day or work ahead of you big man and we can't afford for you to take any breaks. Our customers are more important. I hope you didn't have any plans for tonight." Spencer said all of this with a smile on his face. He had a lot of nerve to talk to a man to size of Miguel like that. His entire body didn't weigh as much as one of Miguel's legs. The over - sized plumber, frustrated by the little manager's attitude and rude remarks swallowed his pride and went to do his job. Grease and toilet tissue remains followed the already funky plumber to the bathroom. Waste was backed up to the rim of the toilet, but lucky enough for Miguel it wasn't overflowing. This dungeon of smell torture is where he would spend the next 9 hours slaving away repairing the backed up pipes. When Miguel was done his overalls and beater shirt were glued to his body by the sticky sweat from his body and the sludge of the porcelain stool he worked on. It was 9:30 p.m. and only a few more customers were there. Spencer had gone on a smoke break so the employees took it upon themselves to ask Miguel if he wanted some free food. Starved from working all day he ordered 12 bean burritos 3 (6-piece cheese covered potato wedges) an apple turn - over and a large pepsi. It took the entire staff to fill this order. Packed with a meal large enough to feed a family he was ready to leave. As he crawled into his manly F-150, which wobbled with his every thunderous move, he noticed from his rear view mirror that Spencer had mischievously clocked out of work after his smoke break leaving his employees to close on the messiest day ever. What a punk. The manager grinned as he hurried to his pink neon car to head home. Pissed from the way he was treated today and how the employees were ditched to clean up a mess that would have been avoided if the screwball manager didn't place the wrong order, Miguel felt devilish with revenge. He followed Spencer home. While stalking the punk, the beast plumber ate his meal and with every protein packed burrito his insides boiled with gas. Being gassy was something that a man Miguel's size expected with every meal, but he NEVER experience bubbles like this. He almost decided to abandon the mission, but he had an idea - A NASTY ONE. This idea would take an extra effort to hold his bowels of flatulence and waste like never before. The efforts were so great it caused him to drip with sweat, but his rage fueled this effort. He wanted to torture Spencer if it took every inch inch of force as possible. Spencer made a final turn and stopped at his home. Miguel made sure to park a few houses down. As Spencer reached for his keys to open his door they fell in a bush which gave Miguel more time to ambush him. He jumped out of his truck and ran towards his target and put his huge dirty hands over his mouth preventing him from screaming. His large body almost wrapped around Spencer's scrawny figure and blew the wind out of him. His moist body soaked Spencer's back as he quietly told to him, "slowly and quietly reach over to get your keys. Then open your door." Spencer scared for his life did exactly what he was told. He was in for a rude awakening. As the last inch of Miguel's back end made it through the door frame he secured it and removed his hand from Spencer. Scared for his life the punk was in shock and held is screams. Miguel gripped him in a head lock and dragged him up the stairs to Spencer's room saying, "so you like to mess with people, huh. I'll show you what it's like to be messed with. I bet you'll never treat people like this again after I'm done with you." At that moment is when Spencer realized how manly and thuggish Miguel was and realized that he was only quiet earlier because he was on the job. But the plumber’s attitude was completely different now. He could see the muscles underneath the sweat drenched overalls decorated with tattoos probably from past gang affiliations. With his head surrounded by the meat of his biceps, forearms, and thick chest he could feel the powerful strength of his capture and tried with all of his might to escape, but the pressure and stench from sweaty musty arm pits interfered with his efforts. When they made it up to the room. Miguel locked the door and threw Spencer on the bed. He ripped the sheets apart with ease and used the shreds to tie Spencer to the wooden bed frame. Afterwards he unhooked the latches on his overalls while saying, “You smell that, bitch?” As his straps fell to the floor they went past his waistline and took his pants with them exposing his naked bulky legs with the bushiest unkept pubic hair that was fragrant with the most foil odor imaginable. After Miguel pulled his overalls past his boots he immediately stretched one leg on top of the bed and planted it between Spencer’s legs. His 13 inch Jamaican-Mexican uncircumcised dick swung in freedom painting the air with hot stench. He turned around to display his ass, which was stacked of muscle and fat on all sides. Then he spread each cheek to reveal a dark hole deep enough to get lost in. Dirt stained sweat from his crack dripped down to the shredded bed sheets. In a scream, Spencer hollered in fear and disgust. He could see the last bit of his capturer, which scared him for his life. “I know you smell it now. You might as well get used to it because it’s going to be all you smell until my stomach is empty.” With that said Miguel lowered himself to his victim and finally received his guts of the pressurized gas that was boiling in him since he left the restaurant in forceful blasts that sprayed the entire front of the bed. Sounds of screams combined with the loud whistling of hot wet air from Miguel’s ass rattled the room. As all the gas escaped from Miguel’s ass he felt his stomach turn and a nerve stuck him from the insides out that caused him to buckle and hold his stomach. After regaining control of himself he looked back at Spencer and said “Damn bruh, you really fucked up now. My ass is filling up with at least 15 processed burritos and a pound of potato wedges, but I’m still not done with you yet.” As he said that Miguel smiled and winked at Spencer and said, “Get ready because it’s coming. You’re gonna be here longer than that

[ecotone99]

[SP TH MF] Reunition

A monster enters a bar that serves only hard cider. The monster sees only one stool vacant at the bar and starts toward the stool. Its twenty legs move forward an inch at a time. It weighs one-and-a-half tons. The bar’s wooden floor creaks every step the monster takes. The sounds are a dramatic symphony of notes. Several of the drunk patrons mistake the creaks for music and start weeping because they find the sounds so beautiful. Another patron sees the two patrons crying and believes they must have recently suffered some loss, so he starts crying out of the sadness he thinks the others have felt. The bartender sees the third man crying and pours him a shot glass of whiskey, finishing the last bottle of whiskey that the bartender has available in the bar. All of these events have occurred while the monster has only advanced 194 inches.

A fourth patron, who is sitting in the corner of the bar, observing the entrance of the bar to his right and the bar countertop to his left, sees the monster moving from the man’s right to left. He does not believe what he sees and incorrectly believes the party of three next to him has slipped acid into his drink. An hour earlier, the man in the corner became agitated when the party of three stumbled into a chair that budged into his table and caused his drink to shake. The incident made the man worry that some foul play had occurred. It had not. To calm himself, the fourth man focuses his attention on a party of two at the next closest table after the party of three. Of the party of two was a woman who wore a top that revealed her bosom about one inch up from her nipples and about one-and-a-half inches from the outside edge of each breast. When she laughed at what her table mate had said, the tops of her breasts lightly shook and jiggled. These images helped the fourth man put his mind at ease, and he forgot about the advancing monster.

The monster was making its way to the bartender of this particular bar because it believed it had left its keys here accidentally the night before. The monster had gone out with an invisible team of monkeys the night before to celebrate the moon’s anniversary to the element of oxygen. But, the monster had failed to correctly remember where he had been the night before. He in fact had not been to this bar, but he had been to an establishment on the planet Mars, which now had a trending scene of hip bars accessible only of course to those privileged few who could make their trip to Mars. Unknowingly to the monster at this time, he had traveled to this bar on purpose unconsciously. He had been here one time before 150 years ago.

At that time, the monster was celebrating its great-great-grandfather’s birth, and it, its great-great-grandfather, and several others had unintentionally wandered into this bar because a poster pinned to the wall outside advertised a walrus balancing walnuts on its ears but that gig had been the talent show the previous week in the establishment next door. And they really had intended to go into a nearby cave that was featuring a goat slaying and music by a rock and a disc that had been divorced seven times. Back then, the hard cider bar was a milk bar for poodles who liked to have their anuses licked by birds with implanted cow tongues that were pierced with bone chards of humans who were former masters of the poodles’ descendants. The milk poured thick out of the elephant trunk draught hoses, and it was not uncommon to find a trunk hair in your bowl of milk, but one did not mind finding a hair because it could be gifted to a younger sibling or friend who required flossing but had always spurned the same advice from the dentist.

On that occasion when they entered the thick milk bar, a giraffe’s neck had jammed the bar’s telescope that was planted on the roof and was pointed into the house of the local mayor, and the mayor’s lethal secret squad of banana-painted urchin-licked mastiffs crawled onto the bar’s roof to engage in a beneficial survey of all things and in particular dislodge the giraffe’s neck because the purple blood inside it caused the mayor’s wife to have nightmares and break out with pimples that the mayor did not find attractive and tempted him to sleep with his niece of no blood relation because the niece looked like his wife but younger and more healthy and attractive. The mastiffs weighed a ton each and the roof was made by the local ant firm who had only tested the roof for a half-ton limit, which took ten billion ants to perform and bankrupted the business after many of the weighing ants, as they were called, did not receive prompt or proper payment and therefore sued the ant roofing firm. The multiple lawsuits and the high rates that the hyenas attorneys charged the firm, plus the principal ant’s untimely stroke after hearing his son’s son had died at birth, had been too much financially and emotionally for the firm that it went under water to former Atlantis to construct roofs on reclaimed households by coral reef residents who had been evicted wrongfully from their homes when the coral reef had whited out to the sky and had let no one know whether they would return, unfortunately. This lack of foresight came to light when the roof buckled under two of the mastiffs who fell together on to the monster’s great-great-grandfather who was carrying his birth certificate and was about to light an old pipe stuffed with all natural tobacco farmed in a colony outside of town.

The three of them—one mastiff, two mastiff, and the monster’s great-great-grandfather—fell through the floor, leaving a circular whole behind that resembled the shape of a shadow from a mango that had grown too big, and the sound of them shouting and singing echoed and bounced off the walls of the hole they were making together. The monster and others listened closely to the fall and eventually the fall had stopped and they could hear the great-great-grandfather petting the mastiffs and trying to throw a ball of dirt for them to catch but there was not the space for such an activity and the mastiffs were not open to participating in such an activity because they were highly trained security operatives who worked for the government and had never had time for such things because they had always been focused on their careers and not play and not sex with other bitches. The monster leaped behind the bar, at that time the monster had half as many legs and they moved twice as fast at twice the length at twice the depth at twice the linguistics, where it grabbed hold a young elephant trunk that giggled at the monster’s touch and it yanked the trunk toward the hole and the trunk stretched because it knew what the monster wanted and the trunk was only more than happy to help the monster because it had never made much of itself during its deadtime. The monster stretched the tip of the trunk like how it would stretch the balloon tip so the air in the balloon would make the noise a grandfather makes after a good hearty dinner full of protein and chow, and as a result, the day’s special poodle’s milk sprayed out quickly and decisively and yelled with glee as it coated the sides of the wall of the hole and made its way down toward the three. As the monster saw it, as so did the elephant’s trunk, when the milk filled the hole, the three would rise to the top. But, as it occurred, it did not happen this way. The poodle milk bar owner who had loved Hitchcock movies so much he had a bird tattooed onto his tail was in the back office listening to barking soundtracks and could not inform the monster that the milk of the day was not floating-enabled and thus could not support of the weight of more than one ball of baby poodle’s hair and maybe a small nugget of poodle poop. Nevertheless, the monster poured that milk into that hole and thought with a smile how he would win this day. But when the milk reached the top of the long deep hole, not one of the three bobbed up. It had taken every poodle, every other available mastiff, and all bambadeers, who were in the district at that time and showed up to help in a surprisingly high number considering that it was the season of red present giving that included giving red socks and red slug heads of metal slippers, to wrangle the monster out of that bar after it became apparent that not one thing that the monster wanted was going to come out of that hole.

Since he was back in the bar, he had not recalled any of this, since he had tried his best to put all of that in a box out of his body and had shipped the box to a place that he could not find even if he had a French detective, but now that he was passing where the hole had been—it was now covered with new fake wood that was constructed by a new ant firm that was started by the brother of the former ant firm—it and every memory related to the incident rushed back into the monster’s brain and every leg. He stopped suddenly and crumbled to the floor. By now, several other patrons had started crying at the sight of other patrons crying and because they too had noticed the symphony of creaking sounds that they mistook for sad music, and because of all this crying, the bar started to fill up with tears. Soon, the room, which was twelve feet high to the ceiling, had filled up halfway with liquid tears. All in the room were floating in the tears. Because the beer that the crying patrons had been drinking was made of soylent that was farm-grown in Panama near the industrial marijuana plant that the local rebel terror squad had used to finance its revolution, and because many of the rebel had contracted an unusual illness that caused enlarged hands and feet, the soylent had become infected with the rebel’s illness that caused the tears of the patrons to become thick like battered honey and all the tears because of their weight tried to go downwards, but the only path was the new fake wood that was soluble to honey and dissolved quickly under the six feet of tears. With the wood above the hole dissolved, the tears worked down through the poodle’s milk, which had been preserved by the earth in the walls next to it and flowed all the way to the bottom of the hole. This shift in liquid caused the milk to flow into the room and also caused the three—one mastiff, two mastiff, and the great-great-grandfather—to shoot up from the bottom of the hole into the room because they too were buoyant in the tears. As it happens, the door minder opened the door and the milk spilled out into the street where a local parrot gang swooped down and played tag on foot until a baby slipped, injured herself, and was flown to the medical ward of bird heaven, and the room was left without liquid again but with the three now there. As it goes, the monster and the great-great-grandfather were reunited. The mastiffs said their goodbyes to the monster and the great-great-grandfather, who had started telling one story to the mastiffs but had not enough time to finish it. It said it would finish it some other time.

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[thebridgeofdeaths]

New Release ~ Preordained by David L. Wallace ~

About the Book:

In the vein of Seven & The Devil’s Advocate, Art Somers is a detective tracking a serial killer in Murrells Inlet, S.C., a small-town, coastal community with deeply held spiritual and supernatural belief systems. He discovers while chasing down clues to ID the culprit that the killer has always had his family on his target list. Things begin to unravel and materialize around and within him, calling into question his long held religious and paranormal beliefs. On the verge of apprehending the killer, he learns an irrefutable truth: Abraham, the father of faith, had to choose to either sacrifice his son or disobey a direct order from God; he must now make a choice - sacrifice his soul to save his son.

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Early Reviews:

“An expertly plotted and executed mystery, shot through with the supernatural...builds suspense effortlessly, hurtling towards a riveting conclusion.”

- Clarion Review

“Original and engaging…full of plot twists, surprises, and a substantial dash of the supernatural.”

– Publisher’s Weekly BookLife Prize in Fiction

“A gripping detective story with biblical undertones…aptly blends the horror and crime genres.”

– Kirkus Reviews

Chapter 2

In the quaint, historic city of Murrell’s Inlet, South Carolina, at the onset of a torrential downpour, thirty-five-year-old detective Art Somers rolled up the driver’s side window of his blue, classic Camaro and turned on his wipers. He took inventory of himself in his rearview mirror: his black mane of shoulder-length hair that offset his olive skin, the shadow of a beard that now graced his face, and more troubling, his bloodshot eyes. He hadn’t slept much lately and it showed. How much longer was it going to take the FBI boys to capture the serial nutcase operating in their midst?

Within a span of twenty-one days, someone had kidnapped and slaughtered multiple twelve-year-old boys in his county and eluded all capture efforts. He gripped his steering wheel tighter. The only good news, if you could call it that, was that the bastard hadn’t struck in Murrell’s Inlet.

He stared at his former neighbor’s sons, who were playing a game of pickup football on the dirt field to his left. One of those boys—or even his own son, Ben—could be the killer’s next target if Murrell’s Inlet became one of his cities of choice. He breathed deep. Not even the fishy fragrance of the nearby Atlantic waters he loved so much, did anything to improve his frame of mind.

A cluster of lightning bolts illuminated the darkened, cloud-filled morning sky, followed immediately by booming thunder that echoed in the distance. Overhead, seagulls darted away as the winds picked up.

Every locale within his county was on edge because the killer only struck within the confines of Georgetown County and always in a different city. For all he knew, his town could be next. He reached over to his front passenger seat and rested his palm on the printout of the FBI serial profiling article. Under captain’s orders, every detective in the station house had spent the past two weeks boning up on the behavior patterns of serial killers.

He flexed the muscles in his arms and looked at his Navy SEAL tattoos. He had no clue what to do if that sick bastard showed up in Murrell’s Inlet. He was too new at being a detective and some were questioning why the captain had promoted him in the first place. Following up on an obscure lead, he’d taken the initiative and pursued and captured a couple of long-sought backwater drug dealers, a feat that catapulted him from the rank and file into the role he now held.

Another contributing factor for his promotion could’ve been that his captain was also a former Navy SEAL. Reading the FBI profiling article hadn’t made him feel any better. He hoped he’d never cross paths with the sick freak.

He wheeled his Camaro into the driveway of his former home, a light green, two-story, southern vernacular. It had a pool in the backyard that he’d put in himself. He sat behind the wheel for a moment under the overhanging branches of the angel hair oak tree his ex-wife had planted long ago in honor of their son Ben’s birth.

He ran his hands through his long, wavy hair and climbed out, wearing worn, faded jeans and a burgundy T-shirt that worked well with his muscular, tanned frame. The rain soaked him as he jogged through the piles of wet leaves that covered the lawn. He stepped onto the covered porch and was about to knock when Judith, his ex-wife, swung the door open.

His son, Ben, with dark hair and piercing, dark eyes just like his, dressed in his white baseball uniform with burgundy letters that read Gamecocks, dashed by him toward the car carrying his cell phone. “Hey, Dad.”

“Whoa. Hey, Sport. If this rain doesn’t break, they may cancel the game.”

“Let’s go,” Ben said and climbed into the front passenger seat.

Judith stood in the doorway in a revealing pink nightie. She was breathing heavily, as though she’d just finished a vigorous workout. She was thirty-four, with shoulder-length blond hair and enough sexual energy to raise the dead. “It’s about time you showed up. Benjamin is being disrespectful to my guest.”

“A killer who’s randomly taking boys our son’s age is kind of a priority, don’t you think?”

“You don’t even know if he’ll come this way,” Judith said.

“A good scout is always prepared.”

“Maybe you should prepare by going to church sometimes and praying about it.”

“I’ll pretend that church means something to you, just as soon as you stop placing hairs of your enemies in those jars of yours.”

A young black man with a shaved head and chiseled body—and more than likely the source of Judith’s workout—joined her at the door. He expanded his chest and stood straight at the sight of Art.

Art shook his head. Yet another boy-toy around his son. “You think Ben’s disrespect has something to do with your choice of guests?” He frowned. “Let him come live with me.”

She stared at him. “I told you, I need the child support—and I’d miss him.”

“Two years of monthly child support checks—even if he’s with me.”

There was a moment of silence as Judith seemed to consider his offer. She glanced at her boy-toy, whose arm now rested across her shoulder. “We’ll be back from vacation soon.”

“Think about my offer.”

She kissed her boy-toy deeply, pursed her lips at Art, and then slammed the door in his face.

“Bitch,” he said under his breath to the closed door. What in hell had he been thinking having unprotected sex with her? He strode back to his car, climbed in, and screeched his tires as he backed out of the driveway. He turned on his windshield wipers and tore off down the wet street. He glanced at his son, who was watching him. He slowed to the posted speed limit.

Ben tossed the FBI serial profiling article in his lap onto the backseat. He pulled his cell phone out of his front pocket and pressed buttons. He rocked his head back and forth to his music selection. “What were you and Mom talking about?”

Art glanced at Ben. “Life, son—things you deal with in life.”

“Mom said call him ‘Dad.’”

Art pressed the brake pedal, coming to a complete stopped in the middle of the street. He stared at his son. “Who?”

“Her new boyfriend, Clarence.”

Art tensed. He pressed the gas and proceeded down the road. “I’m your father.”

“I know, Dad.”

They rode on in silence. His son’s words had cut deep.

About the Author:

Before publishing his debut novel in 2016, he served over 27 years as an information technology professional working initially for the US Navy, and then the Department of the Navy and various fortune companies. He’s a UCLA writing program alumnus who writes mystery thrillers and children stories. He has three wonderful kids who he enjoys immensely. Writing is his passion and his goal with each story is to capture the imagination in the opening pages and keep it engaged to the story’s riveting conclusion.

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